Emphasis on Redemption
by EAD13
Summary: It's funny, really. One little change, and the effects ripple out in countless unpredictable ways. Karma (aka this author) knows that by killing one man, many others can be saved, and so it allows Heidi McCourt's father his revenge that day on the ferry. Watch as the entire Red Dead Redemption universe unravels and reforms, giving rise to hope. FYI Tag should be Hosea Matthews
1. Exit Dutch, Enter Sadie

Goddamn, Arthur Morgan hated being third in command of the Van der Linde Gang.

No, scratch that. He was now SECOND in command, and he hated that even worse. It meant he had to keep his cool while everyone else around him was faltering, even though he himself was left reeling from current events. It also meant that people were going to be turning to him for the advice their former leader used to dispense so easily, as if he could give it.

The thought caused him to grit his teeth as he tightened his grip on the reins. He couldn't escape the countless reminders of Dutch's fall back in Blackwater, and it both stung and left him numb like the vicious winter wind of the Grizzlies that currently assailed him. Maybe, when adrenaline and the desperation to protect his family wore off, he would have time to break down in private. Dutch Van der Linde had been a father in a way his biological one never could be. Dutch had picked him up off the street when he was nothing, taught him how to ride and shoot and read. He'd respected his opinions so much that he made Arthur the official tie-breaker whenever he and Hosea couldn't agree on something. Dutch gave him the jobs he would trust with no lesser associate. Dutch believed in him.

And because Dutch had believed in him, he had to make sure the family he'd pieced together stayed together and was kept safe. That was what his mentor would have wanted most.

"Morgan, that you?" a gruff voice called out through the blowing snow. Arthur jumped a bit, disgusted with himself for being caught off guard, especially when they were on the lam. The voice could only belong to one person though, so he rode on towards the flickering lamplight.

"Yeah, it's me. You find any supplies yet Micah?" That had been his task, to find anything to aid the struggling band of refugees while Arthur searched for shelter and Hosea stayed with and calmed the party. Once he'd located the abandoned mining town of Colter and led them to it, Arthur had gone off in hopes of catching up with the other scout.

"Sure did. Whole little farmstead. Looked like they was havin' a nice party. It ain't far, just a ways down the valley here. Between you an' me, we could clear the place I reckon."

Arthur knitted his brow. After everything that had happened to the gang, now was not the time to be going anywhere guns blazing. Micah, since day one, had been a loose cannon, and what he and Hosea had considered a liability. Dutch ignored their counsel on that matter and had welcomed him in with open arms. Then, he'd taken Micah's advice and pulled that ferry heist despite their protests. Now he was dead, but Micah had somehow been able to walk away. They needed him at the moment, Arthur could recognize that, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "Or I could go and try an' convince 'em to help out a poor feller stuck in a blizzard. Let's not be reckless; there are too many people back in Colter that need us."

Micah snorted before turning and riding on ahead to show the way. "We got too much dead weight at the camp. What the hell do those bums Uncle an' Reverend contribute? And the women, they don't even sleep with ya. What good are they?"

"Bell." Arthur's tone took a hard edge, the last warning shot he was going to give Micah. If he thought that just because Dutch had taken a shine to him, he could be free with his words and toxic opinions about others in their little family, he was dead wrong. Dutch was gone now, and the more he trash-talked, the more he wore down Arthur's patience for his bullshit.

"Whatever. If you wanna keep pets, that's yer business." He said nothing more, thankfully so. If they did come across some supplies, Arthur was going to need help carrying it; would be a shame if he had to put a bullet in the jackass's brain before then.

He hadn't lied, at least. The small farm down the rise was awash with lights, and even from above he could make out the sounds of revelry inside. "I think they've got somethin' to spare," Arthur remarked dryly before pushing ahead down the path. "You oughtta lie low in case negotiations go south. Somewhere with a good vantage."

Micah grunted and gestured towards a cart at the edge of the yard with his head. Once both had dismounted their horses and tethered them at the edge of the property, Arthur waited for Micah to take his position before knocking. The stranger who opened the door reeked of whiskey. "Whatdya want?" he slurred with a sneer. Behind him, Arthur could see the trashed-out nature of the cabin as well as several others deep in the bottle. What the hell kind of farm was this anyhow?

"I'm real sorry to bother ya, mister. My family and I, we got caught in this blizzard, and we desperately need supplies to…"

"We ain't got nothin' to spare." Arthur did his best not to scowl at the ludicrous statement, seeing as everyone inside was living the good life. How did Dutch manage to keep his cool when working with morons like this?

He tried again. "I ain't askin' much, mister, just a can or two o' beans, or…"

Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of a rifle firing rang out across the yard. His heart beat so fast he wondered for a split second if he were having a heart attack, especially when he felt the blood splatter on his face from the man in front of him and saw the crimson pool from his chest. He crumpled lifeless to the ground, and every person within the cabin scrambled for their own firearms. "You bastard!" several of them hollered, all arriving at the same conclusion.

No choice now. What the hell had Micah been thinking? He reached for his revolver and began picking them off before they could gather their wits. Behind him, he could hear Micah doing the same. There was even a shattering of glass as he must have hit a sniper in the window above. Arthur hated to think about how the firefight would have gone with just the two of them had their foes not been completely wasted. When all finally settled, dead bodies littered the already filthy floor.

"The fuck was that?!" Arthur demanded, whipping around to address his cohort.

"There was a dead body in that cart," Micah pointed in annoyance. "These ain't no homesteaders. My money's on O'Driscoll boys."

For once, Micah had a solid point, though he was loathe to admit it. "Couldn't ya have waited until I was outta range first?"

"Did I miss my target?" he demanded with a smug smile.

Arthur scowled. "Damn well gave me a heart attack. Look, why don't you start checkin' out the house and see what supplies you can find. I'll check the barn and make sure we're clear. Maybe they've got some nice horses or somethin'." When all he got was a grunt of acknowledgement, he turned and began to push through the thick snow.

In hindsight, he should have sent Micah to the barn. A rogue O'Driscoll jumped him from the rafters as soon as he slipped inside, but the poor idiot was no match for his raw power despite sending his gun skidding across the floor. All his plan did was annoy Arthur, and that was a very, very bad idea. A few sharp blows to the head, and Arthur began his questioning. "What the hell are you doin' out here?" With no immediate response, he began to choke his victim. "Answer me if you wanna keep breathin', boy!"

"C-Colm wants…there's a…train…" the man gasped.

"Where is Colm?"

The man whimpered again, requiring a few more blows. His face was now bloody. "Camp…near the lake…"

"That'll do." Arthur grabbed him by the lapels and tossed him out the barn door. "Now git before my partner catches you. He ain't as nice as I am." The man didn't need to be told twice as he scrambled to escape into the blizzard. Arthur wondered if he'd even make it out there on foot or if the snow would kill him first. Not his problem.

Before he could turn his attentions to the frightened horse in the back, a high-pitched scream assaulted his ears. "What the hell is it now?!" he cursed, sprinting back to the house. It sure wasn't Micah screaming. When he threw open the door, he found his accomplice wearing a greasy grin as he scooted around a kitchen table, trying to get closer to a dirt-caked woman as they played cat-and-mouse. She continued to scream as she threw bottles at him in an attempt to keep him away, but this only seemed to amuse him.

"MICAH , LEAVE HER ALONE!"

"She's prob'ly one o' them O'Driscolls," he shrugged, continuing to play his game. It took Arthur marching over and shoving him away to get him to let up.

He finally turned to address the terrified lady, who still had not stopped screaming. "Miss, Miss, it's all right now. We mean ya no harm. My partner here's an IDIOT," he threw Micah a withering glare, "but we'll help you out as best we can. Tell me, Miss, who are you?"

She grabbed a knife that had been lying on the table and pointed it at him with a death-grip. "You ain't with them?"

"No ma'am," he shook his head vehemently. "We hate their guts."

"They…they…killed my husband." She broke into a sob, and the knife dipped.

"You lived here?"

The woman nodded as she continued to weep, the knife falling uselessly to her side. "I was hidin' in the cellar…"

"Well, ya can't stay here, Miss. We'll take ya back to our camp until you can figure out what you wanna do, all right?"

"We will?" Micah scowled. He was no doubt thinking of the extra mouth to feed.

"Of course we will," Arthur said pointedly. "We're bad men, but we ain't them. Animals, Dutch woulda said." He winced internally as memories of his deceased mentor came back. He would always be with them, living on as those he'd taken under his wing held true to his ideals. Micah would never understand. "We know how to treat womenfolk proper. Is there anything personal you wanna grab before we head to camp? I'm assumin' my friend cleaned up the vittles and medicine, but..."

The woman's teary eyes darted across the room, and finally settled on the mantle of the fireplace. Eyeing Micah warily, she sniffled and moved to grab a small black-and-white wedding portrait, clutching it to her chest. Then, she thought a moment and moved to the bedside dresser. When she opened the drawer, her face fell. "They took my wedding ring…"

"Wedding ring, huh?" Arthur cast a sideways glance at Micah. "You wouldn't happen to have seen a wedding ring while you were lootin' the place, huh?"

"Filthy O'Driscolls must've stole it," he replied quickly, and Arthur didn't believe him for a second. Wasn't worth starting a fight here, though, not with the distressed woman present.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. If that's it, we'll get you bundled up. The storm is terrible out there. Do ya think you can ride?" Seeing the woman continue to shake, he quickly decided the answer to his own question. "Ne'er mind. You'll ride with me on my horse while we lead yers from the stable alongside us. Micah, you'll bring the supplies, right?"

There was a grunt.

"Let's get goin' then. Snow's only gettin' deeper, and our people need these goods bad."

It wasn't until they set off from the homestead that Arthur finally remembered that he never got an answer to his original question. "I'm sorry, Miss? Ya never did tell me yer name."

"Adler," she whispered into his back as she clutched onto him like a lifeline. The wind carried her words away without his hearing.

"Pardon?"

"Sadie Adler."

"For what it's worth, Ms. Adler, welcome aboard." If only he knew where this train was going now that its conductor was gone.


	2. Strategy Meeting

They didn't speak of it that night. After introducing Ms. Adler to the rest of the camp women and leaving her to their comforting, and after unloading the few tonics and canned goods Micah had scrounged up, Arthur took Ms. Grimshaw's invitation and crashed into his assigned bed for the night. The events of the day blurred together until it faded to black; sleep found him despite the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. Being strong for the others had taken a lot more out of him than he'd realized.

The sun was already high in the sky when he awoke, cocooned in a tattered quilt, pale light streaming in through filthy, cracked windows, and he cursed under his breath. There was too much to be planning for him to still be in bed! Swinging his legs over the side of the rickety cot, he pulled on his boots and took stock of the dust-covered room now that he could see better. The walls held back the worst of the wind, but the room itself wasn't terribly well insulated. Apparently he'd been too tired to care last night, but now he felt the cold that had seeped into his bones. There had to be a fireplace somewhere in this cabin, or else he would have frozen in the night.

Arthur grabbed his journal from the satchel he had carried the entire way from Blackwater, intent on warming up and sorting out his thoughts before facing the world. Everything had happened so quickly, there hadn't been time for any of it to sink in. He sure as hell didn't want to finally have the pivotal moment of realization that Dutch was gone when everyone was looking. If he had a partner in this cabin, he hoped they were out so he could be left in peace.

It turned out that his partner was still in, and sitting in a chair before the fireplace, having coaxed it to a blaze. Arthur was suddenly very glad not to be alone. "Hosea."

His other mentor tore his eyes away from the fire and gave a weak smile. "Arthur, my boy. I'm glad you got some rest."

"Somehow." Arthur shuffled over and took a seat beside the older man. He had dark circles beneath his eyes. "Don't reckon you slept much, didya?"

"No, not really." Hosea sighed a sigh that came from the deepest part of himself, in the hopes of pushing out the direst worries on his chest. "Everyone is panicking, and doesn't know what we're going to do now. Hell, neither do I. Dutch held everyone together with his fantastic plans and over-the-top optimism, but now he's gone. Damn it all, I can't believe he's gone…" Hosea gripped his knees so tightly his pale knuckles turned another shade paler. "I told him it was foolish, that we had something much safer on the line, but he wouldn't listen…"

"That Micah sure put some kinda idea in his head. I don't get it. Dutch's known you an' me forever. Sure, he likes…liked…action, but we had 'im outvoted and he went ahead anyway because of some guy he picked up a few months ago? It ain't right! I don't know why he wouldn't listen to us, and I think…" Arthur's voice finally cracked. "I think that's what hurts worst of all. I wanna kill that bastard."

Hosea saw his protégé trembling, and reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I don't enjoy Mr. Bell either, but Dutch was a grown man. You know he was going to live and die the way he wanted. We can't put the blame for what happened on anyone. Besides…"

"We need 'im," Arthur finished, drawing a shaky breath. "But we really need Dutch more. What are we gonna do, Hosea? We're the Van der Linde Gang! Without 'im, we're gonna fall apart." Before he could stop himself, a tear escaped, falling and splattering on the denim of his jeans. If anyone but Hosea had seen it, he would have been mortified. "Everything he dreamed of, everything he worked for… Without him leadin' the charge, I don't know what's left for me. I've done nothin' but follow 'im since I was fourteen, ya know?"

"Arthur," Hosea began, choosing his words carefully. "You are dear to me, so I'm going to be very frank with you. It's something…something I've been thinking about a lot lately. You know, I'm getting older. I can't do this forever, and the world is changing. Look at Blackwater. Pinkertons, everywhere, and in a place that twenty years ago was barely even on the map. I don't think Dutch ever thought about it. His eyes were always on the next prize, and not the long term. Retirement was never an option to him. He'd keep in his ways no matter how unrealistic they became in the world around him. As much as I loved him…" Hosea closed his eyes and squeezed Arthur's shoulder. "I don't think what was best for him was what was best for you. Do you understand, Arthur?"

"Like Blackwater?" he mumbled, suddenly back to being the awkward fourteen-year-old he had been when Dutch and Hosea took him in. It was the lost look in his eyes. "Like why he decided to do somethin' so dangerous even though we had other options?"

"That's right. And we lost Jenny, Davey, Mac and Sean besides Dutch. This gang is my family, you know that Arthur. I don't want to see harm come to any of you, even though I know what we do is dangerous. What I want, more than anything, is for all of you to get that virgin land in California you always dreamed about and get out of this safely. Call it the desires of an old man who's seen too much if you must." Hosea gave a chuckle. "I'm sure the hot-blooded younger ones would call me crazy. Am I?"

"Does sound awfully conservative." Arthur snorted. "And it doesn't sound so likely now that we've lost everything we've built up back in Blackwater."

"Therein lies the problem." Hosea withdrew his hand and leaned back in his chair. "How can I get you to California? Besides, half the group wouldn't listen to what I have to say. They won't like it. Seniority doesn't always demand respect in this business."

"So what does that mean?"

"That means, Mr. Morgan, that if anyone is going to steer this ship, it's going to have to be the enforcer."

His eyes widened in horror at the suggestion. "Hell no, Hosea! I can't lead!"

"Arthur, you are a 35-year-old man whose glare could petrify a person, whose punch could knock over a carnival strongman, and whose gun never misses. If we're looking at it from a nature standpoint, you are the alpha male of this pack."

Arthur closed his eyes and held his head in his hands. "I just do what I'm told. I ain't too smart or nothin'…"

"Nonsense, boy! Dutch and I didn't raise you to be an idiot. You have a good head on your shoulders, and even more, a loyal and caring heart where your family is concerned."

He remained unconvinced. "Would…would you help me figure out what to do? Like, can I just tell people the orders, not come up with 'em?"

"We've always been a team, Dutch, you and I. Yes, this means you'll have more responsibilities now, responsibilities you are more than capable of handling, but I will be supporting you every step of the way. And I dare say, so will everyone else. Except perhaps Mr. Bell, but we'll see how that goes."

"Hmm…" Arthur moaned as he slouched further into the chair. He was slowly resigning himself to the notion that if he didn't pick up the mantel, as much as he hated the idea of wearing it, nothing would be left of them. Seeing Dutch's dream scatter to the winds was not an option. "If all that's true, then we've gotta have somethin' to tell 'em when we get out there. Some kinda plan. We'll lose 'em if we don't."

"Step one would be getting off this mountain, I suppose. Where should we go? My instincts say west, but given our weakened state, it might be best to go contrary to what the Pinkertons would expect…"

"Hosea, I think step one is makin' sure we don't starve or freeze up here while we wait for our wagons to thaw out."

Hosea grinned. "See? Already a fine leader, following your instincts instead of following me blindly. So then, Mr. Morgan, how do we remedy the food situation?"

He closed his eyes in thought. "I've got an idea, but you ain't gonna like it."

"What's that?"

"O'Driscolls. Near here, camped out by a lake to the south. We could take 'em by surprise and steal their supplies. Got the information from an O'Driscoll we roughed up at the farmhouse, part of the gang who killed Ms. Adler's husband."

The older man rubbed his temples. "You're right, it makes me nervous. With Dutch dead, I had hoped that at least this feud with them would die off, but if we go in and rout their camp, we can forget about it."

"I don't see many other options."

"Neither do I. Neither do I." Hosea rose, and Arthur followed suit, stashing his journal back into his satchel. It would have to wait for later, but at least he'd gotten his therapy in one way or another. "Let's rally the others then. They've been…restless. Putting them to work will do them good, give them purpose."

"Right. An' Hosea?" Arthur paused, unsure of how to express himself. "Thanks for…you know…" He gestured uselessly with his hands.

Hosea was hugging Arthur before he knew it, understanding implicitly why the man couldn't do it himself. "We'll get through this. You know what Dutch would say, don't you?"

He wrinkled his nose. "Have a little faith!"

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

"Listen up, all o' ya!" Arthur and Hosea had gone door to door, requesting the presence of everyone in the camp for a meeting. Now, they were gathered in the warmest and driest of the cabins so John wouldn't have to get off his cot and exert himself with his gunshot wound. The last part had been Hosea's idea, with Arthur commenting that John was just being a big baby about it. In any case, it was Arthur's booming voice that cut through the anxious chatter in the room. Every eye was on him even though Hosea stood by his side, and he hated it already.

"We've had the worst few days. The loss has hit all of us. To lose Jenny and Davey would be hard enough to bear, but not knowing where Sean and Mac ended up? Worse. Then, obviously, seein' our leader fall…" God, this was impossible to talk about without revealing too much of his pain through his voice! "I ain't gonna lie, the view couldn't get much darker. Most o' us joined this gang because of Dutch Van der Linde, because of the ideas he stood for. Because he believed in all of us and made us a family." Arthur fell quiet for a moment, but no one dared break the silence. "There are two things that have not changed, though. We're still family even though he's gone. He may have brought all of us together, but now we've got to stay together and support each other. It's what he woulda wanted. It's what I think we all wanted when we signed on." Arthur was watching Micah carefully out of the corner of his eye, and predictably he rolled his eyes at the statement. That fucking asshole. "The second thing? Even though Dutch is gone, we're still the Van der Linde Gang. We still believe in freedom, and we're outlaws…"

"…for life!" the room chorused. It lacked energy, but it was declared with great solemnity, and the unison effect was chilling. Arthur hadn't been expecting that, but he was pleased to hear it.

"That's right. Now, I know y'all wanna hear a plan. First things first, we gotta survive up here until the thaw. Food is our primary concern. I know we received many cans o' food from Ms. Adler, thank you for that ma'am…" He found her in the crowd, wrapped in a shawl one of the girls had knitted, and staring at her hands in her lap. It was going to take time, a good long time. "But the O'Driscoll bastards ate up a good bit of her stores before we arrived. So, Charles and I are gonna head out and do some animal huntin' after we disperse so Pearson has somethin' for the pot. While we're out, I want some o' you boys to head to Ms. Adler's homestead and give her husband a proper burial. They both deserve that much. Just don't engage any O'Driscolls that might be sniffin' around unless you know you've got the advantage." Sadie finally looked up at his words, eyes watering again. It was hard to believe the poor woman still had tears left to cry, and he hoped these were out of gratitude at least.

"After lunch, Javier, Bill, Lenny, Micah, and I are gonna head out and do some O'Driscoll huntin'. We've got a lead on a camp o' theirs, and it's bound to have good pickings. More food, medical supplies, blankets, the like. Besides, I think the boys need somethin' to do to keep 'em from gettin' rusty, am I right boys?"

From the back of the room, he could hear Javier and Lenny whooping in approval, and finally a smile broke through. "That's what I thought. We'll see where we stand after today, and then we can decide where we go from there. Remember, if you need anything, we're all here for each other. The Van der Linde gang ain't gonna crumble if we don't let it!"

Arthur stepped back and started to leave the room, suddenly unable to recall how Dutch ended his electrifying speeches. It always seemed so natural for that man… Then, he heard a voice from the far wall. "Nice speech, Morgan. Did ya get Hosea to write it for you?"

He turned around and shot a death glare at the source of the jeer. "Shut up Marston! Abigail?"

"With pleasure, Arthur," the taunting man's woman agreed quickly before smacking him sharply on his good arm. "Don't be an idiot, John! I know it isn't in your nature, but try a little harder!"

As the room fell into quiet laughter at their antics, Arthur suddenly felt reassured that despite everything, some things hadn't changed.


	3. Hunting, of Various Varieties

"You did realize when you volunteered me for this mission that I couldn't use a bow because of my burned hand, right?" Charles commented as they saddled up. It wasn't an accusation, more of a bland observation. In the few months the man had been running with the gang, Arthur got the impression that he was generally even-keeled.

"I realized that the other boys needed to get ready for the raid, that you weren't comin' on account o' yer hand, and that I can't hunt with a bow for shit. Hell, I prob'ly can't even find an animal to shoot at! But, that just means yer gonna hafta teach me, is all. I know you're real good with that sorta thing." Arthur hoisted himself on his Tennessee Walker once his bow was secured. "You got any experience teachin' idiots to hunt?"

Charles actually laughed at that as he mounted Taima. "Can't say I have, but I get the feeling you're a quick learner, Mr. Morgan. And despite what Pearson says, there's plenty of game if you know where to look. They'll all be coming out after the snowstorm to find food. The only reason Bill and Lenny couldn't find anything is because they're probably worse than you claim to be! Lenny'd find a deer faster in the dictionary, and Bill couldn't find a hat on his head." Charles nudged his horse forwards, leading Arthur from the camp. "We'll head out a ways into the valley and then start tracking."

As the pair rode in silence, a question burned in Arthur's mind. He wasn't all that close to Charles, being that their paths had rarely crossed in the months prior, but he could already tell that the man was far more trustworthy than Micah, who had arrived around the same time. He figured he'd just bite the bullet. "Hey, Charles, what exactly happened at Blackwater? You know Hosea and I were out workin' on another plan when Dutch took all you guys with 'im. Somehow, I've yet to hear how everything went to hell."

There was no response at first, and Arthur couldn't decide if Charles was pretending not to have heard him or if he was just contemplating the proper response. "That's the weird thing, Mr. Morgan…"

"Arthur. Call me Arthur," he amended, interrupting his narrative. He supposed Charles felt the need to be formal after he'd done the whole leader thing earlier that morning. Not if he could help it.

"As you wish. So, the weird thing, Arthur, is that nobody can agree on how it went down. It seemed like things were going fine. We had the money in hand and everything. Suddenly, Pinkertons, everywhere, like they were waiting to spring the trap. It must have spooked Dutch, because Javier says he…" Charles paused, unsure of how to break the news to Arthur. Arthur was, after all, one of Dutch's closest confidants. Had been in the gang for twenty-some years, and loyalty like that wouldn't like what he was about to say.

"He what?"

Charles inhaled. "Do you want the truth, Arthur?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Why the hell do you think I'm askin'?"

"Dutch shot a girl. An innocent bystander. In the head."

Suddenly, Arthur understood why Charles hesitated. The news punched him in the gut. "That ain't like 'im at all!"

"No, no it wasn't. At least, not from what I've heard about him from all of you, and what I've experienced in my short time here. In any event, after he shot her, the crowd seemed to focus on bringing him down. It gave the rest of us an opening to escape, though even then we obviously lost a few members. It was all we could do to get out, much less grab any money. That's it, really. Karen was out on the streets spying for us, and when she saw everything happen, she brought word back to camp and we all rendezvoused outside of town."

Arthur didn't know what to make of it. He was still stuck on the idea of Dutch killing an innocent. He'd always said that sometimes innocents got caught in the crossfire, but the way Charles, or Javier, or whoever had phrased it, it didn't sound like he should have been firing anywhere near that direction. Unless he slipped in the panic? But then what were the odds of a head shot? This insight did make it easier to understand why he'd been targeted, that and the ridiculously large bounty on his head, but it still made him sick to think about. It reminded him too much of Isaac.

"Thank you for tellin' me, Charles," he finally managed. "I appreciate yer honesty."

Charles could sense his comrade struggling with the news, and tried his best to diffuse the situation. "Maybe you won't after I'm done critiquing your hunting performance." He was correct, this did earn a snort of amusement.

"So, how'd you burn yer hand?"

He gave an annoyed hum. "In the confusion, I grabbed my gun by the barrel after firing it. Amateur mistake."

"I won't tell a soul," Arthur promised. "I'm sure that-"  
"Shh! I see tracks!" Charles interrupted, waving for his companion to be quiet.

Arthur squinted, but he couldn't see a thing on the snow. "Where the hell do you see tracks?" he hissed.

This earned a deep sigh. "We've got a lot of work to do before we make a hunter out of you!"

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

The kills hadn't been all too clean, and he highly doubted he'd be able to find a deer on his own if it didn't jump in front of his horse, but ultimately Arthur got the job done with Charles' tutoring, and two healthy-sized does were dropped before Pearson in his make-shift kitchen. If all went as planned, they'd have some venison steaks waiting for them by the time the raiding party returned from Colm's camp. Arthur made a mental note to watch Charles work once he was better; it was a skill set they were going to desperately need until they came into the money again. He had to wonder if his Native American mother, who he'd mentioned on the ride back, had shown him a few tribal secrets on tracking and shooting before she was taken from him. Wasn't that how it always went for outlaws like them…

Arthur did pause between his hunts to finally eat something for the first time in over 24 hours. He hadn't been hungry since the tragedy in Blackwater, and he'd pretty much forgotten to eat with all the things he had to get done. Hell, he hadn't even had enough time to get good and drunk yet, and that had been high on his priority list! Arthur might have gone even longer without food if his stomach hadn't finally growled loudly in front of the old navy cook. Despite Arthur's frequent digs at his expense, Pearson threw a package of crackers at his head after hearing it. He'd pass out if he went raiding on an empty stomach, he'd warned. Christ, when Pearson, a man who saw fit to take more liquor than proper foodstuffs when told to flee, had more common sense than him, that was just sad.

Finally, it was time to ride out. He found his four accomplices ready and waiting, horses pawing at the ground eagerly. "'Bout time, Arthur! Our bullets can't wait for some O'Driscoll blood!" Javier called with a big grin on his face, waving his rifle around in excitement.

"Well, we'll scout out the camp first and see if we've got the numbers to pull it off. I ain't takin' any big risks, not after losin' five of our guns," Arthur warned, guiding his horse to the front of the formation. "If we go down doin' somethin' stupid, the gang is screwed."

"That's what happens when half yer gang is useless," Micah growled, leading his horse up next to Arthur. "Always gotta worry 'bout keepin' their sorry asses afloat instead of goin' for the big jobs. And another thing. Where the hell did you get that information 'bout Colm? We shot up every bastard on that farm 'cept for the woman. Did she…?"

"There was another one hidin' in the barn. I got him to talk real quick." Arthur started his horse at a trot, hoping they could just get this hunt underway.

"I didn't hear another gunshot, Morgan!" Micah followed, with the others hanging back unsurely. "Don't tell me you fuckin' let him run?"

Arthur sat ramrod straight in his saddle, stopped his horse, and looked Micah dead in the eye. "Dutch always said that once they talked, it was MY decision what to do with 'em. Man was a coward, not worth the bullet. He ain't runnin' back to ole Colm, that's for sure; Colm makes his traitors endure fates worse than death."

"Mebbe so, but you don't know that fo' sure. If we ride out there and there's a fuckin' ambush waitin' for us, all 'cause you were too yeller to pull the trigger…"

"Hey, can we just get on with this?" Bill bellowed impatiently, interrupting the power struggle.

"Yeah, let's." Arthur shot Micah another death glare before tearing off at a gallop. Day one as visible leader and already he was having issues with Micah. Right now, it was more annoying than anything, seeing as the man wasn't well liked by most of the others in camp, but if he got to spreading the dissent… No, he'd have to keep Micah too busy to run his damn mouth, starting with this job. Arthur just hoped it would work out, because if they ended up turning back with nothing to show… He wasn't quite sure, but he figured it wouldn't be pretty.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

"Hell yeah, run you miserable bastards!" Lenny hollered at the retreating backs of the few O'Driscolls remaining. Luckily for them, they were too far out of range to be picked off at this point. About twenty of their colleagues were not so fortunate, and even now the team was hastily picking their pockets clean.

It had all worked out in their favor. Maybe Reverend's cryptic scripture reading before they set off had earned them some goodwill from God, if he was really out there. When the group arrived at the camp, Arthur pulled out his binoculars to spy from the ridge above. Colm, after hollering at some poor stable hand and slapping him around, rode off with a few men. It hurt to watch Dutch's sworn enemy ride off without sniping him, but he remembered his mentor's words: revenge was a luxury they simply couldn't afford. Too much was riding on this for him to overreach. With the O'Driscolls split up and completely unaware, the five snuck in and started shooting up the place. The element of surprise was enough to tip the scale in their favor despite being severely outnumbered.

"Start lookin' in the houses. We need everything we can carry," Arthur commanded as he ducked into one of them. It didn't take long to realize that besides the usual supplies, Colm was packing a LOT of dynamite in a large chest. "Hey, Bill, get over here. I found some explosives. I need an expert opinion." Once the large man had lumbered over to his side, he held a sample out to him. "What do ya think? Are they any good?"

Bill sniffed it, for what Arthur had no clue, but he quickly nodded in satisfaction. "Smells fine to me."

"But why's it here? For the train robbery?"

"Of course for the train robbery. They've got it all here on these plans they drew up!" Micah must have overheard their conversation from outside, and he was looking incredibly pleased with himself as he waved a rolled-up piece of paper, no doubt found in one of the other cabins. "Looks like we've got ourselves the makings of a heist."

Arthur frowned. "Do we know when the train is scheduled to arrive?" He was hoping it was later rather than sooner, so he'd have time to talk it over with Hosea. Attacking a train so soon after a foiled ferry robbery didn't seem like a sound plan, not that Micah would ever hear that from him.

"Says here two days from now. That'll give us plenty of time to prepare." He walked over to his horse and tucked the plans into his saddlebags. Clearly, he had no intention of handing it over to the leader. "Good. These boys need to get their heads outta their asses and start lookin' forward, not back. They're all too damn mopey, and it's a disgrace!" Without waiting for the others he began to ride off. Probably a good thing, seeing as his colleagues were not amused by his commentary.

"What the hell is wrong with that son of a bitch?" Lenny muttered under his breath, pulling himself up into the saddle.

"Can't wait for the day he loses his cool and gets what's coming to him," Javier agreed, taking some of the dynamite from Bill for his saddle bags.

There was so much Arthur would have loved to add, but he knew it would be better to keep his mouth shut and bide his time. "Ne'er mind 'im, Hosea and I'll talk over these plans and see if it makes sense to try and pull off. Let's just head back. They'll be waitin' for these supplies, and that's what matters most right now."

So, they did just that, taking off at full gallop across the valley, and Arthur was certain his action-filled day was finally drawing to a close. No more shooting things, no more fighting with people, no more making decisions, just him and his journal and a bottle of whiskey…

"Hey, Arthur, isn't that the O'Driscoll Colm was yelling at before?" Javier pointed out.

His eyes followed to where Javier was pointing. Aww shit. It was.

Arthur heaved a weary sigh. "Looks like it. I'll go rustle him up so we can get some information outta him. You three head back to camp and start unloadin' the supplies."

By the time he'd given his orders, the scrawny figure, who was letting his horse drink from the river, saw him. The words "Oh shit!" could be heard all the way from his position as he scrambled onto his horse. He had that right.

Arthur spurred his horse to action, flying across the open stretch as he reached for his lasso. It didn't take long to catch up to the rogue O'Driscoll and snare him, sending him tumbling from his horse as it kept on running.

Almost immediately, he was barraged with a stream of jumbled words. "Shit, please mister, I ain't nobody important, I swear, please let me go, you'll never see me again, shit…"Arthur frowned as he began the process of binding his prisoner hand and foot, all while pressing him into the snow with a boot planted firmly on his back. What the hell kind of O'Driscoll was this? He was more pathetic than the guy in the Adler barn, and that was saying something!

"Shut up. Yer comin' with me, O'Driscoll. We got some things to discuss." Before he pried him off of the ground, he began to feel around in his coat pockets for money. The coat was several sizes too big for the kid, and from what he could feel, he was all skin and bones. Was this how Colm treated all his lackeys, or just the really useless ones? He then picked up his victim easily, seeing as he weighed next to nothing, and slung him over his horse. He hadn't stopped whimpering the entire time, and Arthur was seriously considering shoving a rag into his mouth to spare himself the headache. Ultimately, he decided against it, thinking he might get some information from this easy-to-break wimp and save himself time later. He really wanted to lock himself in his room as soon as possible.

"What's yer name, boy?" he growled as he climbed onto his horse and set him to a brisk canter. Too fast and he'd lose his cargo.

"I-I don't know…"

"You don't know your own name, boy?" Arthur scoffed. This wasn't going to be as easy as he thought, he could tell already.

"I'm K-Kieran."

"Kieran what?"

"Duffy. Kieran Duffy."

"Well, I ain't gonna lie to you, this is a real bad day for you, Kieran Duffy."

"Where are you takin' me?"

"Somewhere you ain't gonna like."

The panic in his voice rose exponentially, as if he had remained hopeful until those last few words. "W-why? What are ya gonna do to me?"

"Somethin' you ain't gonna like. So, I'd advise you to save your breath for screamin'."

That last comment, which he'd offered flippantly, backfired in the worst way. The screaming started at that exact moment, right behind him, and he regretted deeply his decision not to gag him. "P-please mister, I'm no use to you, I swear! I only been runnin' with 'em for a few months!"

"You better keep your mouth shut, you little shit, or I WILL shut it for you!"

The threat seemed to work, at least for a few moments, but then it started up again, quietly at first, but growing steadily louder. "Oh God, please….I think I'm gonna puke..."

Arthur's last nerve had about snapped by this point. "Are you tryin' to test me, is that it? 'Cause I WILL break every bone in your body!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, okay?"

"Not one. More. Goddamned. Word. Am I clear?"

"Okay, okay!"

"That's two bones!"

The rest of the ride was finally silent, save for a few sniffles. Good Lord, how had a boy like this ever survived in a gang like the O'Driscoll's? From what he knew of Colm, the man was anything but patient, especially with idiots.

At last they arrived at Colter. When he dismounted and moved to pull his prisoner from the horse, he found him trembling violently. "P-please don't hurt me…" he whispered.

"Well, let me put it like this, Kieran Duffy," Arthur began, hauling him off to the stable like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. "The man who taught me used to say that we shoot fellers that need shootin', save fellers that need savin', and feed fellers that need feedin'. You're the one that's gonna decide what you need, and we'll give it to ya." He kicked open the door to the stables, and once he found a nice open post, dumped his captive to the ground roughly. "Just know that you're already on shaky ground, bein' an O'Driscoll."

As he leaned down to cut his binds, he finally got a good look at Kieran's face. Arthur couldn't even begin to guess his age, given his rough condition. His beard was thin, wiry, and looked like it had never seen a shaving razor. Maybe he was pale, but it was nearly impossible to tell under the grime. His eyes were wild with fear. "I ain't an O'Driscoll, mister! I hate that feller!"

"Sure you do." Arthur was quick to grab his wrists before he could bolt (at this point, who knew what this terrified boy was capable of) and bound them behind the post with little gentleness. "If that's true, you'll talk. But we'll give you a little time, starve you out a bit so you get real serious. Judgin' by the look of you, it shouldn't take long."

Before another word could be said, Arthur practically sprinted out of the barn and slammed the door shut. Fuck, this day could not get any longer. Was one bottle of whiskey even going to be enough?


	4. Murphy's Law

"You should know, Hosea, that it was a pain in the ass tryin' to get these plans from Micah," Arthur grumbled as he spread out the roll of paper on the table he'd pulled in front of their fireplace. "Bastard wouldn't give 'em up unless he got to be a part o' the plannin' meeting. I thought we was gonna end up in a shoot-out and I'd have to pry them out of his cold lifeless fingers. Kinda a shame it didn't come to that, actually."

"How'd you convince him?" Hosea raised his eyebrows as he took a seat at the table.

"I didn't. Everyone in camp glarin' at him did. Guess even a fool like him knows when fightin's pointless." Arthur took a long drag from his cigarette before extinguishing the little bit that remained and taking a seat next to his mentor.

"Well, we all know how he feels about robbing Leviticus Cornwall. Question is, does he even have any idea who this man is?" Hosea frowned as he looked over the plans. "Did Colm? Was he really arrogant enough to think he could rob one of the biggest oil, railway, and sugar magnates in the country?"

"Wait wait wait, this train belongs to somebody super important?" Arthur didn't claim to keep up with all the current events; that had always been Hosea's job.

"Yes, though even 'super important' is an understatement. It would be extremely nervy of us to do this, considering how well it went when we bit off more than we could chew in Blackwater. To rob him would be of the same caliber in terms of value…and in terms of security. The man could afford a personal army of Pinkertons."

"We always used to rob the really rich ones…"

Hosea sighed enough that Arthur could hear the persistent rattling in his lungs. He was only 55, but something about him always made him feel…older. Sometimes it was the wisdom, and sometimes it was the frailty. Today, it was the latter. "We also never used to kill people. We also never used to play loan shark. We also used to give away our money to the poor. A lot has changed since we first began, hasn't it, Arthur."

Arthur looked into the fire, as if his past were in there somewhere. "Somehow. It never felt like it, but all of a sudden when you look back… Kinda scary to realize. How'd it happen?"

"Dutch was my closest friend, but he had a pull. We were both charismatic men, if I may say so myself, but Dutch had more of a…well, I guess a force behind him, a fire that burned more strongly. I think every time he'd gain an inch, and then another. It was never so much that you'd notice at the time, but in the end, the distance he pulled you was…" He stopped. "Perhaps if I hadn't left for those few years with Bessie, or perhaps if I'd put my foot down more often, we wouldn't be where we are now, but it does little good to wonder. We have a chance to shape things now, and in fact we must. The only question is, which direction will we take it?"

"This is gettin' a helluva lot deeper than I thought it would," Arthur mumbled. "I know it's a discussion that's gotta happen, but I don't think now's the time, because what we do now is done outta desperation an' not philosophy."

"I'll be honest, Arthur, I don't like the idea of trying to rob this train at all. Security is going to be through the roof, and we are still vulnerable from our last failure. We're five men down, John can't walk right, and Charles' hand isn't fully recovered. Besides, there are targets on our backs after Blackwater."

"Or are there? Dutch is dead, the thing they wanted most, and our gang fled in disarray. They won't expect it of us."

"And what about O'Driscoll? As if storming his camp wasn't enough, to take his heist right out from under him? Can we really afford to stoke his wrath in our current state?"

"Hosea." He looked the older man in the eyes, in a way he never could have done with Dutch. "I understand what you're sayin', and all of it's true. Really, there's not one reason you've given that I disagree with. But as much as I don't like the idea of doin' somethin' this reckless, right now, we're hangin' on by a thread. Our people need reliable food an' shelter. If we're ever gonna get out of these mountains and start gettin' the money we need for land, it's gotta start with this train, because we have nothin' else. I swear, if you give me this, I'll follow yer next orders without question. You'll lead us where you see fit, and you'll tell us what you want when we arrive."

"Arthur, this isn't about defending my say, it's about…"

"You don't wanna lose anyone, Hosea. You're always lookin' out for us, and that's why we all respect you. Believe me, I don't wanna lose nobody either. No unnecessary risks, I swear." When he finished his piece, he realized with no small amount of shock the nerve of what he had said. Sometimes Dutch had solicited his opinions, though who could ever tell if they factored into his final decisions. This was the first time Arthur had made a demand of his superior, and he knew it was only because this was Hosea he was talking to.

The elder thought for a long moment. "And you're not doing this because Micah is putting pressure on you for it?"

"Aw hell no. I could care less what that moron thinks," Arthur grimaced.

Hosea continued to look at him, but instead of being upset that Arthur disagreed, he gave a sad smile. "Well, if you feel that strongly Arthur, we'll do it your way. You know the capabilities of our men in the field far better than I. I will hold you to your promise though. When this is through, we are keeping our noses clean for a while, is that clear?"

"Are you mad at me?" he asked quickly, worry evident in his eyes as his broad shoulders tensed.

It hurt Hosea to see, that this fully-grown, entirely competent man could suddenly turn into a self-conscious teenager in the blink of an eye, starving for approval. It looked like he was bracing himself for a verbal blow, the reprimand for daring to disagree! How had he not seen it until now? Had Dutch's brilliance been blinding him? He leaned over and put a reassuring hand on Arthur's shoulder. "My boy, I raised you to think for yourself. I may not agree with you, but I'm proud that you are standing up for what you think is right. Don't worry, okay? I trust you."

The fear melted away with his mentor's words. "I promise you, we'll do this without a hitch. We've got all the plans and materials we need right here, and no distractions. You just get the camp ready to go so that when we return, we can head out." Arthur rose. "Say, have you figured where we'll go once the wagons thaw?"

"I know the area around Valentine quite well. Small sheep town, plenty of opportunities. A good place to disappear for a while. We'll say we're itinerant workers, just laid off from a factory."

Arthur smiled. "The man with a plan, that's you all right. I like the sound of some peace for a while. Now, I'm gonna talk strategy with the boys. We'll need all the usuals. I think John and Charles have healed up enough to rejoin us, though we'll just have them as scouts to be safe."

He was almost out the door when he remembered something. "And as you're packin' up camp tomorrow, don't forget the O'Driscoll in the barn. Though, I doubt he'd let you forget; he's the loudest damn wisp of a feller…"

"How long are you planning on leaving him starve?" Hosea asked pointedly. "I thought you'd question him before we left so we wouldn't have to drag him with us when we move."

Arthur frowned. "We'll see. If he doesn't talk tonight, we'll just hafta wait some more. I'll head over there after our meetin'." He began to leave, but stopped again. "And Hosea?"

"Yes?"

Arthur looked back with an expression of gratitude. "Thank you. For…yeah."

After the boy he'd helped raise left the room, Hosea slumped further into his chair. By God, how long had he been molded to seek approval? The answer made him feel sick: inch by inch.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

"I ain't got a lot o' time right now, but I just thought I'd ask in case you were gonna make this easy," Arthur stuck his head into the stables. "You gonna start talkin' yet?"

At the first sound of his voice, Kieran flinched. After a night of gentling snorting and pawing at the ground by his horse companions, it came across harshly. "I'm tellin' ya, mister, I was just in charge of the horses. They didn't tell me nothin'!"

He was completely unconvinced. "Hmm, about what I thought. Well, looks like you'll have to sit for a few days now. We've got ourselves a train to rob, and then we're headin' out. You'll be joinin' us as our special guest then."

"Train? Y-you mean the Cornwall?"

At that, Arthur's eyes narrowed. The dark expression on his face made Kieran shiver, and he internally cursed himself a million times over for running his mouth again. "Don't know nothin', huh? I'll keep that in mind, Kieran Duffy."

"They'll come for me, you know?" he blurted loudly, pulling at his restraints in a futile effort.

Instead of convincing him, the forceful way he'd stated it made Arthur think even he didn't believe it, that he was just trying to convince himself. "O'Driscoll could care less about a little shit like you, especially after the number we did on his camp. Have fun meditatin' on that one." The door slammed shut as he made his exit, and he secretly hoped to have rattled the already neurotic prisoner further. But as he walked away, Arthur started to wonder: why didn't the O'Driscoll look more…under duress? It had been nearly twenty-four hours since he'd had a drink, and yet his throat didn't seem parched when he spoke. The look of pure terror was also gone from his eyes, for better or for worse. When this robbery business was all over, he was going to have to have a camp meeting…

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Why'd he go and make that promise to Hosea? That he'd pull this heist off without a hitch? And then to not knock on wood afterwards? Of course it went wrong, and within a few seconds of the plan being put into motion. Bill pushed the detonator, intending to blow up the tracks and stop the train so they could rob it. Nothing happened. He hit it again. Still nothing. While everyone swore, panic rising amongst them as the train began pulling past, Arthur felt his stomach drop.

He'd helped Bill set up the wire. This was his fault.

"To the ridge! Plan B, we jump aboard!" he hollered behind his bandana as he led the charge. Micah probably shouted something snide to his back, but he wasn't listening. He'd wanted to hang back, keep the others in check while they did more of the dirty work he'd stopped being able to stomach since Eliza and Isaac's death. Now, thanks to his incompetence, he was probably going to have to do something he would regret.

He jumped off Tennessee and was the first to fling himself from the ridge and onto the top of the train cars. Javier and Lenny were the next two, always eager, but Javier didn't get a good grip and fell off. Arthur had to wince, hoping that he hadn't injured himself seriously in the fall. Lenny managed to hang on to the railing until Arthur could pull him up. As for the rest, they watched from the ridge, the last car already having passed them by. Out of their entire team, it was down to two men. They couldn't fail, though; the fate of the Van der Linde gang rested on them and this train robbery being successful. Even more, he'd promised Hosea he could do this.

"We're gonna have to stop this train the hard way," Arthur shouted over the noise of the wind.

"I'll take point," Lenny quickly volunteered, and Arthur couldn't deny he was glad for it.

It still didn't spare him from blood in the end.

Lenny cleaned up well. For such a well-mannered and academic boy, he had no qualms with pulling the trigger on the many security guards. Arthur remembered being the same when he was younger. He simply followed behind, making sure they were actually dead and not faking. When he got to the coal car, he flinched. Lenny had been grabbed by a hidden guard and was being slowly choked.

He didn't want to have to pull the trigger on an honest man, but he didn't want anything to happen to Lenny more. Lenny was his family. He fired, nailing the man in the head with the deadly aim he was notorious for.

"Thanks, Arthur," the boy gasped, rubbing his throat as he regained composure.

"No problem. Now, let's hit the brakes." It didn't matter what qualms he had; he couldn't let anyone else see them.

Once they did hit the brakes, the rest of the gang was not far behind, having ridden hard to follow. When more security guards poured out, Arthur could just sit back and watch the others work. He hoped it would sate the group's bloodlust for a while, especially if he was going to keep his word to Hosea about lying low in the coming weeks. All defenses terminated, they began the work of blowing open the locked car with the remaining dynamite. Three attendants were inside, dressed impeccably and no doubt employees of Leviticus Cornwall. Arthur volunteered to stay outside and keep watch over them with Charles and John while the rest went to work cleaning out the goods.

"What are you going to do with us?" one of them questioned with a shaky voice.

After dealing with the O'Driscoll kid, the frightened tone didn't even grate on him. "Once we take your boss's valuables, we'll load you right back up and send the train on its way. That is, as long as you behave yourself. We have no desire to kill more than we have to."

"You've killed enough," the man on the end accused.

"What are you doing? Shut up!" another colleague hissed at him.

He would not be detained. "Do you think you're not real bad men, even after what you did to them?" He gestured angrily with his head to the multiple corpses on the ground.

"Sam!" Now both his colleagues were shaking him, trying to get him to stop before the three heavily-armed outlaws lost their patience.

With a sigh, Arthur pulled out a cigarette and flicked the lighter. His nerves were about shot. "We know what we are. We ARE bad men."


	5. Transition

It turned out that most of the haul involved bonds. This made Arthur nervous. Gold, you could sell. Money? Already done. But bonds…that was a messy business. Arthur hoped that Leopold Strauss could work his magic with them, find the right person to pick them up, but he wasn't going to bank on it. Instead, he sent the rest of the gang back to camp with the papers, telling them he was going to send off the train and take care of the prisoners.

He did, of course. Wouldn't put any bullets through their heads, that was not his way, but he did tie them up and throw them back into their luxury car. Then, he started looting everything in sight that had any kind of value. The pockets of every security guard were picked clean: bottles of bourbon and fine cigars, belt buckles and rings. Once he was certain he'd cleaned the place out top to bottom, he finally restarted the engine and hopped off. All the way back to Colter, he wondered how Dutch had always managed to be so confident, even when things didn't work out. He was already feeling a bit nauseous as he considered the wrath he'd incurred for such a petty haul. First big decision as leader, one he'd fought Hosea on, and it might very well be a flop.

His spirits did raise some when he got back and saw most of the camp already packed into the wagons. Time to get out of that hell-hole and into some decent weather! Hosea was standing outside the cabins, directing the flow of goods, so Arthur rode over to report in. "Everybody make it back?"

"Yes. That's a relief. But…" he frowned. "They say it was mostly bonds. Of course, the majority of those boys haven't got a clue what that even means, but…"

Arthur fought the urge to duck his head. Not while others were around. "I grabbed everything I could that was worth anything." He wasn't going to mention that it was maybe $15 in spare change and some trinkets.

Hosea noticed his remorse. He lowered his voice. "Don't rule out anything yet, Herr Strauss has an uncanny way of working magic with money. And if we can't do anything with them, think of it this way: we just relieved a bunch of debtors their debts to a rich son of a bitch. Sounds a lot like what we stood for at one point, doesn't it?"

Arthur did brighten a little at that. "Yer right, like always. I'll just have to pass around the fancy liquor I picked up after we set up camp down the line and they'll be too drunk to ask too many questions, huh?"

He chuckled. "Drunk and satisfied after pulling a heist. It should buy us some time. Now, we're about ready to take off. We were just loading up a few extra things, and…"

"Hey, Arthur!" Charles called. It was strange to hear him raise his voice. When he looked over in his direction, he saw Charles was leading Kieran Duffy from the stables. The scrawny prisoner was practically wilting under the hostile glares. Sadie in particular looked like she would love nothing more than to murder him where he stood, and the boy clearly recognized it. "Where do you want us to stash the O'Driscoll?"

"I told you I hate 'em," he muttered half-heartedly, squirming against Charles' grip on his forearm.

A slow, sadistic smile crossed Arthur's face. "Put 'im in the wagon with Uncle. Let 'im hear all about his 'lumbago'. That might speed up the confession process."

Even stoic Charles had to grin at that. "Can do."

"But first things first…" Arthur began to stroll towards the pair as he unknotted his bandana, amused at the way the boy's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Perhaps this kid was learning after all. "Believe me when I say you're gonna wanna add this, for the sake of all our sanity during the ride." With little finesse, he pulled the material between his teeth, earning a frustrated groan from his victim. Arthur's nose wrinkled a bit as he tied the knot, noting how greasy his hair was. Maybe once they arrived he'd leave him out in the rain to get a decent rinse…

Satisfied he'd be unable to slip his gag off, Arthur gave a mocking pat on his bearded cheek. "Now behave and keep yer mouth shut or we might be tempted to toss you into the nearest river and be done with you, am I clear?" The muffled yelp of panic this earned caused him to chuckle. He was WAY too easy to fluster. "All righty then Charles, I think we've got our understandin'. Go pack 'im up."

"Got it, Arthur." His grip remained gentle but firm as he dragged the dejected O'Driscoll away.

Once Kieran was stowed, and the few other goods the gang still had were packed up, Arthur and Hosea's wagon signaled the train to begin moving. It proved to be an uneventful trip as the freezing mountains gradually morphed to temperate woods, not that Arthur was complaining; it gave him plenty of time to figure out what he was going to tell the group when they arrived. Having Hosea next to him, he bounced a few ideas off of him and got the orders he'd promised to follow. The long journey went faster than he'd expected, and soon the convoy was pulling off the main road onto a path nearly concealed by the undergrowth. Horseshoe Overlook.

After all those days in the Grizzlies, the vista was breathtaking. The fact that one could walk around without three layers on was also a plus. There was still plenty of tree cover while allowing for ample open space, and it just felt as if the hilltop was waiting to be lived on. Arthur slapped Hosea on the back. "Gotta say, old man, ya chose damn well. I was worried, comin' so far out east towards civilization, but I can't wait to put down some tent stakes here."

Hosea shrugged modestly before standing on the bench of the wagon. "Everyone, may I have your attention please? Attention please!" His voice didn't cut the way Arthur's did, but one look at the respected man and every member of the camp ceased their excited chatter. "This will be our new home for several weeks, until the work dries up. Arthur has done an excellent job of getting us out of the Grizzlies in one piece, but now it is my turn to make a few calls of my own. My number one concern at this point is finding some low risk or legitimate work until the Blackwater storm blows over. Head out into town and get the gossip. Pick a few pockets. Take bounties if your trigger finger is itching. For all they know, we are wandering workers, and I intend for it to stay that way until we have a large-scale job planned. We will not rush into anything until we are fully prepared. Our ultimate goal is California, and land to retire on."

There was a general muttering at his words, so Arthur decided it was his turn. At least he'd had plenty of time to practice this in his head. "Now look, we've just come off a long string of big jobs, and I don't think I need to mention that our success rate was sufferin' as the Pinkertons caught onto us. Some of you are convinced Blackwater was a set up, but honestly, it was the security we shoulda been expectin' for a haul of that quantity, even if it didn't used to be. We can't keep bein' reckless if we don't wanna find ourselves riddled with bullets. I agree with Hosea on this. It's time we start figurin' out for ourselves where we wanna end up in five years, because by then the world is gonna be…changed. Hosea and I, we've been doin' this the longest of all y'all, seen a lot of things. This ain't nothin' we've seen before. Believe both of us when we say, what we want most is to see our little family get to the other side of this safely."

"I didn't join this gang to play errand boy and set aside money for retirement!" The voice that cut through was regrettably familiar by this point. Micah jumped off his wagon and stormed closer to the speakers. "I joined to make the law bleed and take my share. If old men like you two wanna play it safe and sell out, then leave the rest of us to do what we came here to do!"

"Yeah Morgan, does this mean you intend to have us disband now that Dutch is gone? I spent my whole life workin' for this. I ain't gonna give it up here in my prime!"

It was one thing for Micah to call him out, but when he heard John Marston's voice, he could feel his blood already beginning to boil. That stupid, selfish brat… "You of all people should be concerned about stayin' safe!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've got a FAMILY, Marston!"

Hosea knew where this was headed. It wasn't the first time his two boys went at it tooth and nail, and it wouldn't be the last. Right now in front of a confused crowd was not the time. "BOYS!" he shouted. He didn't shout except in special occasions, so when both Arthur and John heard it, they fell silent, though the death glares persisted.

"Hosea, sir, what about resisting the government? What about freedom? Dutch always believed that was our purpose, and we all believed that." Javier was calm, but he still looked incredibly troubled.

"Boys, as Arthur said, we're not here to make the decision today and for all of you. It is something we all need to come together and determine. First, though, we need to get strong once more. The train heist helped get us back on our feet, but there is still a lot of work to do. A lot of money was lost in Blackwater. All I'm asking is for you to be discreet right now, and we can decide on a long-term plan later. Does that seem agreeable to you all?"

There was a chorus of uh-huhs and yessirs. Micah noticeably scowled and refused to acknowledge the statement.

"We've got a few jobs we know for a fact need doin' right away," Arthur resumed. "We need scouts to check for Pinkerton presence in Strawberry Hill. Lenny, Micah, you are fresher faces around here. We'll be sending you two once we get camp established here. Herr Strauss, we need you to take a look at the bonds we scored on the train and see if you can't find a taker. Charles, we'll need your hunting prowess to get Pearson stocked up. The rest of you, we'll be putting camp together." Arthur looked up at the sky, now growing dark as the sun sank beyond the horizon. "Let's get to it, everyone. Let's get settled."

It was a flurry of action once the meeting was adjourned. Miss Grimshaw was a seasoned veteran of assembling and disassembling camps, and she was already barking orders at the girls of the group. The men started unloading wagons of the heavier equipment. Arthur was finally convinced the flames of resentment had died down, so he turned to his own wagon to grab something. He nearly ran over Strauss.

"Pardon me, Arthur. I was wondering if I could get to Valentine at some point to work on finding some…clients…in addition to my work with the bonds."

Arthur inhaled deeply. This was something that he and Hosea had agreed on without debate, but that didn't make it any easier to have to break the news to Leopold. He had really hoped he wouldn't have to the same day as giving that speech, but nothing was ever easy. "Herr Strauss, Hosea and I have been talkin'. Dutch had started to let a lot of things go in recent years that we never used to do. Originally, we were all about helpin' the poor." He waited for that to sink in, but Strauss just blinked behind is circular glasses emotionlessly. "That bein' said, we wanna steer back to that mindset. Loansharkin' doesn't hurt the rich people that we wanna hurt, it just hurts poor people, people like you and me and everybody else in the gang before we were taken in. Now, mebbe it's a kind of survival of the fittest thing, but all the same…there have gotta be better ways to make a dollar. Until further notice, we don't want you to be tryin' to get people hooked with loans, okay?"

It was always impossible to read Strauss, but there was the faintest hint of something in his voice when he spoke. "Does that mean you have no more use for me, Mister Morgan?"

"Aww hell no!" he objected quickly. "You're the ledger keeper. You're the money expert. Nobody can handle bonds except you. You'll still have plenty o' work." He paused. "We ain't gonna cut ya loose, Herr Strauss, you're one of us! We just wanna find different work for ya, that's all. We good?"

"I understand." He seemed perhaps a bit disappointed, but he was no Micah, screaming about whatever bothered him. "I shall see to your bonds then."

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "Much obliged, Herr Strauss. I thank you for your understandin'."

With a nod, they split up. When Arthur turned to grab his things, he found they were already gone, taken while he was deep in his conversation. He just shrugged and looked for something else.

There, in the very back of the wagon… He crawled in to get at the crate, and curiosity got the better of him. When he lifted the lid, his heart sank. The gramophone, and several of Dutch's favorite records. It must have been stored in here the day they fled Blackwater, and never removed when they set up in Colter. There were probably several other effects of his floating around. Damn, every time he seemed to forget for a second the reality of what he had lost, another reminder popped up. Part of him wanted to throw the thing off the cliff so he wouldn't have to look at it, much less hear it ever again. He just knew that if one of those old records started to play, he would lose it. The other, more reasonable part of him knew the better option would be to leave it with Hosea so he could treasure that bit of nostalgia tied to his long-time partner in crime. Sure, he'd probably fire it up at some point, flooding Arthur with the emotions he feared, but Hosea deserved the chance to do what he needed to heal. He was the only person more devastated by the loss of Dutch than him.

Well, perhaps not. By all accounts, Molly O'Shea was Dutch's biggest devotee. Arthur would have given it to her instead if she were here, but like so many other things tied to Dutch, she had simply disappeared the day he died, never rendezvousing with the party. It wasn't surprising, seeing as she had only entered the gang for him, but he still had to wonder what happened to her. One less tent to set up in the camp.

Well, no. He could let Sadie have the tent. Poor woman would need a place to sleep. It wasn't as if the O'Driscoll needed it…

Wait. Where was the O'Driscoll? Had he been 'unpacked'? Arthur jumped out of the wagon and scanned the area urgently until he found his man, leaning against a tree near where Pearson's tent was being set up (whoever did that was getting bonus points for creativity in torture), his wrists bound behind the tree with a single length of rope. The icing on the cake was Sadie herself standing before him, taking a long drink of something from a bottle, and then proceeding to dump the rest of the contents on the ground right at his feet. They'd been kind enough to remove his gag, and his anguished whine could be heard across the camp.

Ahh, things were settling in nicely despite it all.


	6. Paved with Good Intentions

Hosea had asked that they lie low, and Arthur was not entirely sure how to go about that while still providing the funds the gang desperately needed. Once camp was set, and each of his photographs were lovingly set out around his cot (thank God Grimshaw had had the wits about her to save those when they'd fled!), he resolved himself to sleep on it.

It ended up being late morning when he finally awoke, though it seemed most of the others were in a similar position. It had been a long day of travel and a late night of work for everyone. The line at the chuckwagon stretched far as everyone had the same idea: get sustenance. As Arthur took his place at the back of the line, he began taking a head count out of sheer boredom. All of the girls were accounted for, at the front of the line; apparently they'd been rousted before the men because Grimshaw had given them some kind of work to do. Abigail and Jack had already gotten their oatmeal and were seated at a table eating. Charles, Javier, Lenny, John, Bill, all joking around as they waited their turn, and Micah watching sourly as he stood behind them. Leopold and Uncle with Sadie sandwiched in the middle, enduring Uncle's attempts to be cheerful. Hosea helping serve with a smile next to Pearson and Grimshaw. Hell, even the tied down O'Driscoll rounded out the picture as he fairly salivated at the smell. But…

"Hey, where's Reverend Swanson?"

Bill, who had been on guard duty the night prior, chimed in. "Saw him take off for Flatrock Station in a hurry early this mornin'. Said he had a lead on somethin'."

Arthur groaned loudly. "Did ya ever consider that lead was for somethin' alcoholic?"

"Eh." Bill shrugged. "No point in stoppin' the man. He can do what he wants. It ain't like he's gotta stay sober so he can do any jobs, lucky bastard."

Bill wasn't wrong. Reverend Swanson didn't do a whole lot for the gang; he was perhaps even more of a parasite than Uncle, who at least managed to be sober more often than not. Dutch had brought him in, claiming the Reverend had saved his life and was owed his support. Dutch wasn't there to vouch for him now, so why not let him go wander to his heart's content? No skin off their teeth if he didn't return.

Somehow, Arthur just couldn't convince himself of that. Once a member of the gang, always a member of the gang, though Lord knew Swanson played the role of obnoxious dependent found in any true family. "After breakfast, I'll go have a look." He finally stepped up to the chuckwagon. "What've you got today, Pearson?"

Pearson looked apologetic. "Sorry Mister Morgan, all the hot food is gone. I've got, uh…" He rummaged through a box until he withdrew a can. "Peaches." When Arthur frowned in disappointment, roughly grabbing the can from Pearson's hands, he added "Maybe while you're out lookin' for Swanson you can hunt somethin', huh?"

"And if I do, I get first dibs on it," Arthur grumbled, walking away.

It was past noon by the time he finally set off, having taken a moment to trim his beard so he'd look presentable and switch into some lighter clothes for the temperate climate. It was a pretty enough ride down to the station, though the O'Driscolls standing along the side of the road spewing arrogant threats in their ridiculous accents polluted the view. What good fortune, he could get some money and beat people up without remorse! That was exactly what he did, and after hiding their unconscious bodies in the bushes, he walked away five dollars richer and in a whole lot better mood.

It didn't last. Near the station, he spotted a pig roaming freely. When he saw it, all he could think of was salty, crispy bacon and his already growling stomach from his meager breakfast. It didn't occur to him that wild pigs didn't really live in this part of the country; he just whipped out his bow and took a clean headshot to the idiotic animal.

"What the hell!?" an outraged voice rang out. Arthur snapped his head towards the noise, and found himself staring down a very pissed off farmer who had come running. "My pig!"

"That was yours? Look, I had no idea, mister. It was just wanderin' around!" He threw up his hands, hoping to diffuse the situation.

"You're right by a train station! You tellin' me it didn't occur to you that the pig got out of the fence?"

"You can take 'im back, sell the meat…"

"He's dead! By the time he gets to a butcher, he'll be rotted!"

Well shit. All he could think of were Hosea's words: no trouble. "Look, here's…five bucks. For your loss. I'll take 'im." Ouch, that hurt. So much for his good fortune.

At least it was enough to placate the farmer, who eagerly snatched up the cash. As he walked away, counting his coins carefully, the unwitting culprit sighed and began tying the carcass to the back of Tennessee. When he sat down later that night, he was going to work on sketching this pig so he could tell the difference next time…

It really didn't get much better at the station. He found Reverend Swanson in a back room attempting to gamble at poker when he could barely even make a coherent sentence. The stench of alcohol on his breath was a pretty good indicator of how he'd ended up in that state, though he insisted he was resisting Morpheus's grasp. Made sense, seeing as he'd already been complaining of withdrawals in Colter. By the time Arthur had excused the Reverend from the poker game, turning down their requests that he fill in, the man had somehow gotten away. How he was even able to walk in his condition was a mystery! At least he wasn't hard to find; he was further down the hill getting beat on by some random stranger who he'd probably pissed off. Arthur got to him before any serious damage could be done and laid the bastard out, only to find Reverend Swanson on some nearby railroad tracks with his foot stuck. With a train whistle in the distance. Fuck!

Running at a full sprint up the slope, he managed to pry him loose before he was splattered by the oncoming train. "You crazy bastard!" he howled in anger, his patience all but used up. Why was he trying so hard for this good-for-nothing?

Swanson's eyes immediately watered. "I've been bad again, haven't I?" he half slurred, half cried. He was a pitiful sight.

Arthur Morgan had killed many men, sometimes ones that weren't even bad. He'd lied and stolen more than he could count. Despite all that, he couldn't leave this sad, broken man to his fate. He rubbed his forehead, annoyed at his own damn mercy. "Let's just get home."

"Home? Then I can have tea with Margaret!" Swanson instantly brightened, mood changing in the blink of an eye.

"Who the hell is Margaret?" But before he could get an answer, the Reverend passed out dead drunk.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

There must be a God, because He was testing him, clearly. After yesterday's fiasco with Swanson, this morning he was met by Uncle, wanting to go into town. Then, all the girls in camp overheard and begged him to let them come along. What happened to being an outlaw? He was all of a sudden a glorified babysitter! Perhaps it was the bacon sitting well with him, and perhaps it was the knowledge that at least the girls were going to get some spying done, because he relented.

Even the ride there couldn't be simple. One of the horses got loose from the carriage in front of them on the road, and at the urging of the girls, he got down and helped the old man get his horse back. "If it weren't for you, I'd a robbed 'im," he insisted as he took up the reins once more.

"It's no shame to have a heart, even if it is a small one," Mary-Beth teased back with a pleased smile. She was a good girl despite running with a bunch of outlaws, but she had it all wrong. Outlaws didn't have hearts.

Once in town, Uncle had bought a bottle of whiskey and passed it to him as they waited for the girls to do their work. Between the alcohol and Uncle's incessant babbling, Arthur was pretty sure he nodded off somewhere in there, only roused when Mary-Beth returned, bringing with her news of a train that would make easy pickings. The adrenaline certainly kick-started his system when he noticed Tilly being accosted by a stranger in an alley across the way. It pleased him that when in full rage mode, he could send the asshole packing in a hurry. But even that wasn't enough, because Karen had gone to get a hotel room with a drunk guy and hadn't come back, and when he investigated, he found the man beating her. He put an end to that real quick. "So much for lyin' low," he muttered as he escorted the young woman down the steps, receiving nervous glances from the hotel clerk.

Fucking Jimmy Brooks was the last straw. What kind of idiot openly declared he'd seen you in Blackwater before riding away at full gallop? That was not going to be allowed to happen. Despite all his efforts to be good, Arthur grabbed the nearest horse and gave him chase until Jimmy's horse threw him, nearly off a cliff. It would have been so easy, all his problems solved, to step on his fingers and let him plummet to his death. Would look like a complete accident too. But there he was, pleading for his life, swearing he was mistaken and had never seen him before. For no logical reason at all, Arthur was inclined to pull him back up to safety.

"You're a good man, sir!" he said breathlessly.

No. Wrong. "Not usually."

"My name's Jimmy Brooks." As he introduced himself, he held out a very nice ink pen made of steel from his coat pocket. Arthur could already imagine how nice it would be to write with in his journal. "Here. Take this."

"Gee, thanks?" This was just getting weird. "Look, Jimmy Brooks…" Arthur pointed a finger to his own forehead. "I ain't gonna forget that name. But you're gonna forget this whole thing ever happened. We ain't NEVER met, am I clear?"

Maybe it was the hard edge to his tone, or maybe it was the way his nostrils flared when he said it, but Jimmy was agreeing profusely before scampering away.

Christ, what was wrong with him? Was he really going to trust that intimidation was going to be enough when killing him would have been so easy? If the others found out, there'd be no end to the crap they'd give him. Seething, he got back up on the horse he'd borrowed. Because he wasn't going to steal it, he was going to return it. Got to lie low.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Once the horse was returned to its rightful owner, Arthur decided to head to the saloon. There was no sign of Uncle or the girls, so apparently they'd left him stranded here in Valentine. Fine by him. He needed some time alone to process things, and a few shots of tequila would probably help.

Lo and behold, when he pushed open the doors to the saloon, Javier and Charles were already inside with their own shot glasses in hand, flirting with a pair of entirely shameless girls. Peace, it seemed, was not in the cards. At least a well-placed insult to the girls' honor had them storming off, much to his companions' dismay. No matter how they thought themselves, they weren't real ladies, not even close.

Before his friends could complain too much about his interference, though, Bill stumbled in with another fellow and started throwing punches for God-knew what reason. Javier and Charles leapt to join in along with every other patron in the bar. What the hell happened to lying low?! Well, not his fault now, was it? He started attacking the goons that were all over his friends, losing his hat but putting them in their places.

Then some brute named Tommy stomped down the stairs. When Arthur tried to get him off of Javier, he ended up thrown through the saloon window and covered head to toe in mud. "Not lookin' so hot now, are ya pretty boy?" the big man sneered as he climbed through the remains of the window to finish the job.

The insult sparked some red-hot fury within him. Arthur usually had a pretty level head; he wouldn't have lasted as long as he had in this business if that weren't so. However, when someone struck a nerve, not even Dutch or Hosea could hold him back from his desire for retribution. "Pretty boy?" He wiped the mud from his face as he staggered to his feet. "Well, you ain't gonna look so pretty when I'm done rearrangin' yer face!"

In the next few minutes, he took several blows that were probably going to hurt tomorrow, but he was equally confident he was giving Tommy even more. Finally, he saw his opportunity to pin him down in the mud and wail on his face until there was blood everywhere.

"Please, stop!"

The voice that cried out was pleading and pitiful, but it snapped Arthur from his rampage. He finally noticed the large crowd that had gathered to watch this display, and the single cowering man that had meekly dared to intervene, his glasses nearly sliding off his nose as he trembled at his own audacity.

"What's it to ya?" Arthur snarled, refusing to relinquish his hold on Tommy's collar.

"It's just that…we don't want nobody gettin' killed here, mister. You won. You beat him. Everybody knows it. Isn't that enough?"

He looked down at his foe again, realizing just how severely he'd injured him. His nose was busted for sure besides his cut lip and blackened eyes. It frightened him to realize just how far he'd gone without even being aware. Roughly, he dropped Tommy to the ground and pushed himself up on shaky legs. "Bastard asked for it." As if he had to explain his actions to the world.

"Mister Morgan, is that you under all that mud?" A familiar voice, one entirely too proper for this setting, reached his ears, and Arthur pushed through the crowd of gawkers, probably leaving muddy handprints on their sleeves as he did, until he found the source: Josiah Trelawny, flanked on either side by Bill, Charles, and Javier.

"It's been a long time, Josiah. Wasn't you supposed to be to New York?"

"Hmph, things come up, you know how that goes. Listen." He waved Arthur to the side, away from the people as they dispersed, each one casting apprehensive glances his way, and a few even cowering as they snuck past. Fuck, Hosea was going to be pissed when he found out about this incident... Trelawny continued his explanation, bringing Arthur back to the moment. "I have important information regarding young Sean's whereabouts."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Sean? He's still…?"

"Shhh!" Trelawny scolded, but he nodded. "I'm headed out to camp to speak with Mr. Matthews. You should join us…after you've gotten yourself cleaned up." His eyes wandered Arthur's soiled form with no small amount of distaste. "Not exactly sending the right impression."

As he left with the others, Arthur looked down at himself, feeling a similar disgust at the sight of his filthy appearance. Good man? What a laugh. Even when he tried, he couldn't be a good man.


	7. Morale Boost

The hotel clerk looked rightfully alarmed when he burst through the doors for the second time that day, this time caked with mud. "You're not here for any trouble, are you mister?"

"Hey, that before? I was protectin' a lady." Arthur reached into his pockets and pulled out a dollar. "Obviously, I need a bath. The deluxe variety." After his exploits from earlier, Arthur wasn't sure he'd be physically able to reach everywhere he'd need to. "Also, I need somethin' done with these clothes. I don't care if they're still wet when I leave, anythin' is better than this."

The clerk nodded quickly. "Just one moment then, and we'll prepare your bath. Vivien will be assisting you this afternoon. She'll grab your clothes once you get settled and pass them off."

"Sounds good."

It took a few minutes, which felt longer than normal seeing as he was too dirty to sit on anything, but finally he was summoned back. When the door closed, he hurriedly stripped before sinking into the tub. Damn that felt good. It felt like gang life and all its problems were a million miles away as the steaming water enveloped him, the scent of some flower hanging in the steam. Blame Dutch and Hosea for instilling such classy tastes into him, even if they were impractical at a time like this.

Just as soon as he'd settled in, there was a knock at the door. "Are you ready for me to enter, mister?"

"Yeah, come on in. My clothes are right by the door."

The door creaked open, revealing a slender but wiry woman. The way she was dressed, with her low-cut bodice, Arthur had to wonder if they were catering to lonely male customers. He didn't usually ask for help, didn't want to spend the money or have to deal with awkward women like the kind Javier and Charles had found in the saloon, and he was already wondering if this would be worth getting those spots on his back. "I'll be right back to help you, mister. I'm just gonna send your clothes to get scrubbed." She had all the opportunity at that point to bend forward and reveal a good amount of cleavage in his direction, but instead bent her knees with her back still straight to grab his garments. Perhaps clothes did not make the person after all, he mused as he reached for the soap. May as well get started. There was a lot of scrubbing to do.

By the time she returned, the water was brown. He could tell she was trying not to appear obvious as she analyzed the situation, her dark eyes darting back and forth. "Say mister, do you want to step out while I refill the tub for you?"

"I don't know if I can afford two baths," he admitted.

She just shook her head, her braid whipping back and forth. "No extra charge, mister. You paid to get cleaned up, and there's no way you can get clean in this. We've got towels over in the corner, you just let me know when you are ready and I'll start emptying the tub." Before he could argue, she had exited the room to give him privacy. Well damn, Valentine had some excellent customer service! He did as he was instructed, wrapping the towel around his waist, before summoning her back in.

"It'll just take a few minutes mister, I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

"Oh, don't you worry 'bout that, you're the one doin' me a real favor here."

For lack of anything better to do, he watched her as she worked. Girl was a real hard worker, and now he could see why she was so wiry. Despite how they'd dressed her up, he could imagine her pulling her weight at camp, maybe even more than the girls they did have. "So, how long you been doin' this?" Arthur could have kicked himself for trying to make small talk, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

"Longer than I'd like," she replied, turning her focus to refilling the tub from the large vat of water sitting over the embers. "Sometimes you don't have a whole lot of choices." As the words trailed off, she seemed to realize how they came across. "No, wait, I mean…"

Arthur chuckled, leaning against the wall. "Don't worry none, miss. I appreciate honesty."

She sighed with relief. "Just don't tell my boss, okay? I need this job."

"My lips are sealed."

Once she finished filling the tub and adding the suds, she left the room once more so he could reenter the bath. God, she was right, this was so much better than trying to finish bathing in a tub full of shit. "All good."

This time when she came back, she was wielding a brush. "All right mister, you just let me know where you need me."

"My back," he answered quickly, leaning forward in anticipation.

"That makes sense." She got to work, the perfect balance of rough and gentle as she scrubbed the dirt off.

Arthur sighed, enjoying the feeling of getting clean. "It's been such a rough week…"

"I can tell, the way you walked in here. You, uh, work with the sheep like everybody else around here? Haven't seen you before."

"Nah." Arthur chose his words very carefully. "We're on the road a lot. But even this mess was from, ah, somethin' else."

Thankfully the woman didn't ask any more questions. He wasn't real eager to reveal that he'd been brawling right outside the hotel. Once his back was clean, she switched over to helping him rinse his hair, fingers massaging his scalp in a way that made him melt, the tension he'd been carrying over the past several days disappearing. "You may not like this job, but you're awfully good at it."

"Thanks, I try my best." She leaned forward, sending her braid falling into the water. Before she could stop herself, she cursed. "Damn it, if they'd just let me cut my hair shorter…" Immediately, her face turned bright red in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, mister, that wasn't very lady-like!"

Arthur finally laughed as he guided her braid back out of the water. "Miss, you are twice the lady that pair of flirts down at the saloon could ever be."

"You mean Anastasia and Lucille?"

The Anastasia part rang a bell. He was pretty sure one of the women had thrown it out there right before having the nerve to call him a 'pussy cat'. He looked like he'd taken a bite of something powerfully sour. "Yeah, I think so."

The woman wrinkled her nose as she began rubbing his shoulders. "They tried to get me to join their…particular line of work. No way. I've still got SOME pride left."

"I can tell, and it suits you."

"Well…thank you, mister. I guess sometimes this job ain't so bad." She stood abruptly. "I think that should do it. Your clothes will still be pretty wet; you want me to fetch any spare clothes you've got?"

Arthur sighed, remembering that Tennessee was all the way back at camp with his extra outfit. "My buddies ran off with my horse. I'll just have to make do with wet clothes."

She smiled. "All right, I'll go bring them to you then."

By the time she returned, Arthur was out of the tub with the towel around his waist again. "Say, miss…" He'd been thinking about this the entire time she had been gone, debating whether it was worth looking like a fool or not. Again, his desire to know was stronger than his desire to play it safe. "The man up front told me yer name, but I wasn't payin' all that much attention at the time. Would ya tell me?"

The woman looked at him with wide eyes. She must wonder what his intentions were, and he couldn't blame her; probably had a lot of unwanted advances working as a bath assistant. "Vivien."

"Vivien. I'll remember that, because, well, you see…I wanna give you a tip for doin' such a great job, but I don't have the money right now. I'll come back and ask for ya, okay?" Yes, that seemed like a completely reasonable reason to want to know her name.

The worry melted away. "I should say 'no' to that, mister, but you say you like honesty. I'm in no place to be turning down tips. Thank you so much." Before he could reply, she was already scurrying out the door. Arthur began donning his damp clothes, appreciating the fact that after everything that had gone wrong earlier, he was back to feeling human. The bath definitely was part of it, but he couldn't help but feel Vivien had also helped.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

It was getting late, with the sun nearly set by the time he made it back to camp. Admittedly, he'd sat by the livestock yard drawing sheep and chickens just to clear his head before heading back, and he'd also made sure to take out a deer despite only having his revolver. The deer he'd left in the bushes, unwilling to get dirty again after his magnificent bath. Let Bill go haul the carcass up to Pearson.

When he arrived, he immediately noticed Josiah and Hosea in deep conversation. They both stopped as soon as he drew near. "Why Arthur, you're looking much less savage now," Josiah teased with a smirk.

Hosea sighed. "I heard about what happened in Valentine… Caused quite a scene in front of the entire town, and not of the upstanding citizen variety."

Arthur desperately wanted to point out that Bill had started the whole thing, and that Javier and Charles had also jumped in, but that would be childish. Besides, he knew he'd lost his temper and made things worse, and it did no good to pretend otherwise. "I'm sorry, Hosea. I was tryin' so hard to be good, but what that miserable bastard said to me, I just…" He huffed in frustration. "I'll work on damage control. Go do some favors down in town."

His mentor patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. "I'm sure you've been doing your best, Arthur, and I know you'll make things right in the end. Right now, though, we've got a more pressing matter. Has Mr. Trelawny mentioned Sean to you?"

Arthur snapped to attention. "That's right! Josiah, what about 'im? Can we get to 'im?"

"As I was telling Mr. Matthews, some bounty hunters picked him up and are waiting to be given the best offer for turning him over to custody. They were in Blackwater, which I can personally testify is a death trap for any of you to enter, but I heard they will be moving him downriver. We need to get to him before they pass him off and send him to a federal prison out west."

"We'll ride out immediately!" Arthur insisted. "We ain't gonna let Sean slip through our fingers. We've lost too many lately the way it is!"

"No, we'll wait until morning light. They won't be leaving until tomorrow anyhow. It will be better for all of you to be well rested. I imagine this will involve quite the shoot-out; the Ike Skelding gang has a great many hired guns."

"Who should we send, Arthur?" Hosea inquired. "Lenny and Micah are out scouting at the moment."

"Javier and Charles. We need this done quickly and quietly." He sighed. "I don't know how much sleep I'll get tonight, Josiah, but I'll try. We leave at dawn."

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Christ, they'd needed a moment like this desperately. So many blows back to back: losing all their money, the deaths of Dutch, Davey and Jenny, Mac gone missing, and sitting up in those mountains clinging for survival. When Arthur returned to camp behind the others, he found the entire place in an uproar of the best possible kind, and naturally the cocky Irish kid they'd rescued was at the center of the storm, giving speeches that were already slurred from several drinks. Despite being in custody for over a week, being kicked about by the bounty hunters, and strung up by the ankles, he acted as if nothing had happened. Arthur knew he'd found out about Dutch through the bounty hunters, so perhaps he'd had enough time to process that while sitting around. Or, perhaps he just wanted to get drunk so that nothing was wrong in the world. Who could tell with Sean?

"…and even grumpy Arthur Morgan missed me!" he chirped with a goofy grin, calling out the newcomer to the party.

Arthur shook his head with a smile, because he couldn't deny it. Pain in the ass that he could be, the kid had a way of keeping things from getting too somber, and they needed it now more than ever.

"Drinks are on me!"

"You never have any money, so how can you say that?" Still he reached for a bottle of whiskey and held it out to toast the MacGuire boy.

He wandered around the camp, greeting the others, but mostly absorbing the atmosphere. Javier had taken out his guitar and was leading a rousing rendition of Louisville Lady (to which Arthur did sing along under his breath, though luckily Uncle drowned him out). Hosea, in a stroke of sentimentality, pulled out the phonograph and put on a waltz; it was perhaps his way of bringing Dutch into the celebration, knowing he would have been so happy to have Sean back safely. As it was, it prompted Mary-Beth to ask for a dance, which he did while pretending to be aloof. She always saw through that act though, and smiled the entire time as he twirled her about. Afterwards, he stopped by various tables where his comrades were growing steadily tipsier, mostly to get a laugh at their current states of inebriation.

He was about ready to call it a night, remains of a second bottle in his hand, when he noticed a figure on the outskirts of camp. He couldn't for the life of him recall who he hadn't seen, and so he ambled over. When he got within a few yards, he realized it was the O'Driscoll, long forgotten in the haze of euphoria. When the boy looked up to see who was approaching, his eyes glistened, as if they were holding back tears. Wanted a drink that badly, huh?

"Some party, eh O'Driscoll?"

"Y-yeah. Great party," he mumbled.

"Ya want a drink?" Arthur swirled the contents of his bottle right in front of the prisoner's face. "Got plenty o' whiskey floatin' around."

He gave Arthur a hard look before hanging his head. "Real bad."

"Well, help yourself to one."

Kieran hated himself so badly for falling for such an obvious trap. His desperation was making him more of an idiot than usual. Arthur began to walk away, still chuckling at his gullibility, and suddenly everything boiled to a point.

"Six Point Cabin!"

Arthur paused, turning to face him with his brow furrowed in confusion. "What was that, O'Driscoll?"

"Six Point Cabin. Where Colm was headed. It's the only thing I can think of that you might find important, 'cause I keep tellin' you I was nobody in that gang!"

Arthur stared at him, before slowly draining the rest of his bottle. "Can't tell if I'm drunk and hearin' things, or if you're the easiest prisoner I've ever had to crack. I know you were even gettin' water from somewhere, seein' as you should be a prune by now. Incredible…" Throwing his bottle somewhere near the boy's feet, he shuffled off to his tent. "I ain't got the energy to deal with this now. In the mornin', you're gonna take us there, and if you're lyin', it will be about as bad as you can imagine for you. Now, I'm gettin' to bed so I can be in a deep sleep before Sean and Karen start doin' their thing. Enjoy their little performance; they ain't particularly subtle."

Kieran was left alone to imagine what awful things they would do if Colm wasn't where he thought he was, and to wonder what his tormentor had meant with his last comment. About an hour later, he found out. He wished he could unhear all of it.


	8. A Change in Affiliations

It was nearly noon by the time the camp stirred to life. They hadn't partied that hard in God knew how long, and from every corner there were sounds of people complaining of hangovers as they stumbled around. Even Pearson hadn't been up to making breakfast, not that anyone would be able to stomach it at this point besides little Jack and Strauss, the death of the party. It made Arthur glad he'd had the sense to stop at two bottles. Besides, if he hadn't, he might have already forgotten the O'Driscoll's confession. That needed to be straightened out, so he put on his hat and sauntered over to the tree stump where he'd left him earlier that morning.

"Mornin' O'Driscoll. Sleep well?"

"Ha ha, real funny mister," Kieran moaned. He had dark circles under his eyes, and Arthur supposed he hadn't gotten much sleep between Karen and Sean's coupling and his own tormented thoughts.

"We've got business to discuss. You were rather…forthcoming last night. Somethin' about Six Point Cabin." Arthur pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and began blowing smoke in the prisoner's direction.

Kieran grimaced, choking back a cough. "That's right, mister. The day you, er, picked me up, Colm had rode off for this place just north o' Valentine. He's got a camp there. Lots o' men."

Arthur tapped the ashes from the end of his cigarette. "Now, that may or may not be true. What I really wanna know is why you're tellin' me this now, outta the blue. It's damn suspicious. I'll be real honest, O'Driscoll, you ain't exactly lookin' like you're hurtin' too badly…"

"Tell that to my wrists. And my sunburn. And my stomach."

"All annoyances, really. Not the kinda things that makes a man talk so readily. Usually you've gotta start loppin' off body parts." Arthur flashed a particularly sinister look that made the boy shudder. "So, why, boy? Why should I believe this ain't a trap? The first confessions are always lies, that's what I've learned."

Kieran couldn't believe his ears. He'd finally given them what they wanted, and still it wasn't good enough! "Why should I hold out when I don't even like Colm O'Driscoll? I keep tellin' ya, mister, I hate 'im! Is that so hard to believe? You know what he's like, at least a little!"

"Then you woulda told me right away when I asked, not a week later."

Kieran ducked his head and shifted uncomfortably. "I was scared…"

"No shit. I thought you were gonna piss yourself."

His face burned in embarrassment, but he persisted. "I've had enough time to think it through. You fellers seem a lot more decent than he is. I wanna help ya bring 'im down."

Arthur stared for a moment before bursting into laughter. "You squealed because you wanted to help the guys that captured you? That's gotta be the most ridiculous excuse I've ever heard!" He braced himself on the tree trunk, leaning dangerously close to Kieran as he continued to laugh, his breath reeking of cigarette smoke and stale whiskey. "And yet somehow it suits you, boy. All right, I'll play along. But if it turns out you're lyin', you'll see just how 'decent' of folk we really are. You're gonna stay here while I figure out who ain't still hungover, and then we're gonna go for a ride."

As he turned to leave, Kieran interjected worriedly. "M-Mister? If I'm gonna go with ya, could I maybe…get somethin' to eat first? Ya know, so my stomach don't alert nobody?"

"And so maybe he'll be able to stand on his own two feet?" a female voice chimed in. They both glanced over to find Mary-Beth approaching with a bowl of oatmeal and a flask.

"Ah, Mary-Beth. You've got some uncanny timin'…" Arthur frowned. "I've been meanin' to ask the group, but I think I've got a bit o' an idea. You know anythin' about why this O'Driscoll hasn't shriveled up yet? It has been…" He trailed off as he began to count on his fingers. "Over six days now."

Mary-Beth looked him dead in the eye in a way few in the gang would dare to do. "You said no food, sir. I didn't feed him."

Leave it to Mary-Beth to play the loop-holes. He should have known. "Ya know, in different circumstances, that woulda only prolonged his sufferin'," he shot back, clearly vexed.

She just shrugged and brushed by him, setting the bowl down on the ground while she unscrewed the flask. "He'll be ready to go by the time you are, Arthur."

He gave a low growl. "See to it he is. We'll talk about this later."

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

His candidate pool for this mission was severely dwindled. Charles had kept to himself the night prior, and so his head was on straight. This didn't surprise Arthur at all. Of the remaining candidates, it was shocking to find John the most put together. Maybe Abigail had been harassing him not to go overboard last night. He wasn't real keen on running a mission with that idiot, but it would have to do.

He filled them in on his plan to ambush the enemy camp, making sure to put the O'Driscoll on the back of John's horse (make that self-centered brat deal with him) so he could guide them in the right direction. Not much else they could strategize at this point until they saw the layout, and if he were being honest, that made him nervous. The boy was a seemingly innocent fool, but he was also quick to turn coat against his former gang. Perhaps he was genuinely out to get revenge for poor treatment; Arthur had seen first-hand during their last raid how he'd been slapped around. Then again, perhaps as soon as he was in danger from the O'Driscolls, he'd turn right around and screw them over. One thing Arthur knew for sure was that he did not have one brave bone in his body. If push came to shove, he'd crumble.

When they returned for him, Mary-Beth was nowhere to be seen, but Kieran was looking at least a bit more comfortable. Well, until he saw that Arthur had only brought two others with him. "That's all?" His eyebrows shot up.

"This is more than enough for a bunch o' lousy O'Driscolls," John snarled, pulling out his hunting knife. He began sawing through the ropes restraining Kieran to the tree stump.

"Does this mean…am I gettin' a gun too?"

"Aww hell no! You think we'd trust you with that?" The ropes fell loose, and Kieran's first reaction was to massage his chaffed wrists, wincing. "You're gonna ride with me, tell me where to go, then shut yer damn mouth lest we shut it for ya. Just 'cause you talked don't mean you're in the clear with us, you understand O'Driscoll?"

"I ain't an O'Driscoll!" Kieran frowned, but his shoulders still sank at John's harsh words.

Suddenly, Arthur had a death-grip on his shoulder. A warning. "Well you sure as shit were, and that ain't somethin' we just forgive and forget. Now, get on the horse and start makin' yerself useful."

So began the long ride to Six Point Cabin. It was as if Kieran had all sorts of pent-up energy, resulting in nearly constant chatter along the way. That, or maybe he was just babbling nervously. Or, was he trying to get it out of his system before he was forced to be silent? Every time Arthur was about to tell him to shut up, he'd say something that was actually useful for navigating, and he'd hold off on his comment. Between that, his powerful smell, and John's excuses for not being more productive since his gunshot wound, it felt like the ride went on forever as they climbed the hills.

Once they were within range, everyone stopped their horses and tethered them to the trees. All four crouched down and slinked up to the edge of the ridge so they could get their bearings. "All right, O'Driscoll, where's Colm gonna be?"

Kieran pointed to a cabin on the other side of the camp. A large number of gang members were doing chores or otherwise lounging about, standing between them and their goal. Of course. "He'll be holed up in that cabin over there. Probably passed out booze blind, likely as not."

His explanation was interrupted as a trio of gang members walked in front of them, completely unaware of their presence as they argued about breaking some bad news to Colm. John's first reaction was to clap a hand over Kieran's mouth and press a gun to his temple. The boy went wide-eyed in panic, but to his credit he did not make a sound. He just sort of clenched and unclenched his hands anxiously in response to his predicament.

"How do we do this, Arthur?" Charles asked, all business.

"These three go down with a silent kill. Got yer knives?"

"Yeah."

"'Kay. You and I will take out these bastards, then John, you leave Mr. Duffy here and join us for the gunfight. If he runs," Arthur shrugged, "he runs. As long as none of our horses go missin', I don't really care either way. He flashed Kieran a predatory look, potent enough to have him shrinking back into John's grasp. "If any horses are missin', we will be hunting him down with guns instead of lassos this time. Now let's go before we miss our chance."

They made it too easy; one dawdled behind to relieve himself and got shot in the head with Arthur's bow. The remaining two had throwing knives lodged into their necks as they waited for their ill-fated companion. A final scout on the edge of camp got his throat slit. Finally, the trio opened fire. There were a lot of them, but they were caught unprepared much like the time in the Grizzlies. That, and Colm always went for quantity over quality, Arthur observed with a smirk as another series of bullets missed him completely.

The camp was cleared out in no time, but one thing still remained. "John, Charles, you two start looting the bodies. I'll check out the cabin."

"Are you sure we shouldn't come with you?" Charles questioned worriedly.

"Naw. They ain't exactly gonna be hidin' an army in there. Just need one bullet between Colm O'Driscoll's eyes."

True, there wasn't an army inside the cabin, but there was one observant gunman, and that was enough to nearly do him in. As he reached for the doorknob, the door flew open and knocked him to the ground, his gun skidding away from the force of his fall. Before he could process the barrel of the gun pointed at his chest, a different gun fired from somewhere behind him. The enemy spasmed and fell. Blood spewed from a fatal chest wound. When Arthur craned his neck to find the source, he was stunned to find his savior was neither Charles nor John.

"I-I know you said no guns," Kieran apologized, shaking a little as he steadied a small pistol with two hands instead of one, "but I saw that fella run inside durin' the shoot-out, and I knew you was goin' in there, so I grabbed it off one o' them fellas you knifed, and…"

Arthur jumped to his feet, grabbed his gun, and burst into the cabin, completely ignoring Kieran's explanation. He pointed it right and left as he searched the small room, but there was no one else inside. Colm was still out there. The feud would continue. They'd just poured oil on a fire they'd already started back in the mountains. All in all, this was a complete waste of time. Realizing this, Arthur stormed out in a rage. "He ain't here! You set us up, O'Driscoll!" He turned his gun on the boy, even though he had obediently dropped the weapon as soon as the coast was clear.

"N-No, that ain't it! I didn't know he'd left!" Kieran protested passionately. He'd been afraid this would be the case, that his only bit of helpful information wouldn't even be helpful at all. Now he had nothing in his defense except… "Wait! If it was a set-up, why would I have saved you?" Realizing this, he grinned triumphantly.

"He's not wrong," Charles agreed, startling Arthur with his presence due to his intense focus on Kieran. Both he and John had come running as soon as they had heard the gunshots.

It was absurd. How could it be that an O'Driscoll, especially one so meek and pathetic, had saved his life? The boy couldn't even hold a gun properly! It royally pissed him off that he had acted so recklessly that this was even the case. "Fine. Then git."

"What?!"

"You heard me, I'm lettin' ya run." For the love of God, just get this obnoxious little shit far, far away from him before he lost it.

"You can't!" Ah, there was that familiar fear creeping into his rapidly rising pitch. "After what I've done? Colm'll kill me!" He shook his head vigorously. "Take me in. Make me a Van der Linde!"

"Accept a treacherous snake into our camp? Why the hell would I do that?"

"Is it because I rode with O'Driscoll?"

If he were being honest, that part ate at him to the core. Dutch would be rolling in his grave if he knew they'd taken in one of their sworn enemies. There was more to it, though. "Because you sold out your gang at the first sign of danger! Van der Lindes have loyalty."

"How many times do I hafta tell ya, they ain't my gang! Colm pointed a gun to me and told me it was either ride with them or die. Ya can't betray people you were never loyal to in the first place!" Finding Arthur unmoved, Kieran turned his attention to John and Charles. "Come on, ya wanted me to talk, and I did, but now that makes me a bad person? You turn me loose and it's a death sentence!"

"What are ya good for?" John scratched his chin.

"Horses," he answered quickly. "I've always been good with horses. Feed 'em, groom 'em, clean up after 'em. Hell, I've even done some work trainin' 'em. But I'll do anythin' you ask me to, I will!"

"Arthur." Charles voice was as even as ever. "Hasn't he earned a chance? Besides, he already knows our location. If that gets into the wrong hands…"

Damn Charles and his logic. He was getting the distinct feeling he was fighting a losing battle, and his own volatile emotions were the only reason he was fighting at all. He glowered at the boy, who looked so on edge it seemed he might just forget to breathe. Micah's words about having too many people to babysit played back in his mind, but he hated Micah's guts. At least this one seemed willing to work, and despite all his many, many faults, Arthur didn't actually doubt he would. The boy was the type to bend over backwards to please. They could use that. "Fine," he dismissed with a wave, pretending he had any semblance of control over the situation. "You head back with John and Charles."

A huge grin split his face. "Thank you, mister! I'll work harder than anybody, I swear! You won't regret this!"

"Make sure I don't…"

"No more callin' me an O'Driscoll?" he added hopefully.

"Don't press yer luck, O'Driscoll. I have a VERY long memory."

"What will you be up to while we ride back, Arthur?" John demanded while Kieran pouted in the background.

"Lookin' around. Makin' sure everything's cleared out."

"You gonna get the money in the chimney?"

All three turned to stare at their newest member. "The what now?"

"The money Colm always hides in the chimney, lots of it!" When they continued to give blank looks, he added "Here, I can go get it." He looked so proud of himself, but before he could dart into the cabin in his excitement, Arthur grabbed him by the collar.

"I'll take care of it. You just clear out."

He seemed a bit put out, but didn't dare argue. He'd already gotten what he wanted today, and had no intention of pushing too far. He joined the other two as they backtracked to the horses, leaving Arthur to stew about current events.

When he pulled hundreds of dollars from the chimney, his anger only worsened. Of course it wasn't the money, which the gang desperately needed since the Blackwater failure. That was a complete blessing which would allow them to get much-needed supplies. It was the knowledge that without Kieran Duffy, the world's most incompetent outlaw, they'd all still be broke.


	9. Clearing His Head

He thought his irritation at the situation would diminish by the next morning, but it wasn't to be. When he put on his new fingerless leather gloves, he remembered whose money had paid for them. When he drank his coffee at the campfire that morning, he remembered whose money had paid for a new percolator for the camp. When he'd oiled his revolver after yesterday's gunfight, he remembered whose money had paid for the better-quality holster he slipped the weapon into. It was infuriating, this debt of gratitude. It must have showed on his face, because he could feel the others keeping their distance.

Then, there was the fact that, as a man of honor, Arthur was obligated to give the O'Driscoll convert a share of the haul. It was so large that even after giving $200 to the camp fund and splitting the rest four ways, it was still substantial. As he approached, intent on getting the deed over with, the boy stopped what he was doing and pried. "Did ya find the money in the chimney, sir?"

He just chucked the wad of cash at his head and kept on walking. "Yer share." The poor kid looked baffled, torn by sheer awe at holding so much money in his hands, and dismay at Arthur's cold treatment. Well, joke was on him, because Arthur had no intention of letting him leave camp. The money would just sit, hidden away, with no opportunities to be spent. Maybe it would drive him crazy.

As he approached his horse, prepared to ride out somewhere just for the sake of getting out of camp, he nearly stumbled over Hosea, who was sitting and polishing his rifle. The older man remained as calm as ever. "Mornin' Arthur."

"Mornin' Hosea." He kept going without thinking twice, but Hosea's voice caught up with him.

"Where are you off to, Arthur?"

"I dunno. Around." He shrugged. To be fair, his response wasn't noncommittal as much as he truly didn't know.

"How about you and I go hunting, for old times' sake?"

Arthur looked around at the general bustle of the camp. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Hosea? Both of us leavin' at the same time?"

"Arthur, they are fully capable of not burning the camp down for the day." He paused, reconsidering. "Okay, maybe not Sean, but he'd do it regardless of whether we were there or not. What happened to trust?"

That jabbed at something sensitive inside of Arthur. "Ever since I had to take over for Dutch, I've gained a good idea of why he never trusted nobody. Somethin's gonna blow up, and it'll all be on you when it does."

Hosea doubted that was the reason for Dutch's increasing paranoia in the months leading up to his death, but he didn't mention it. Instead, he used the rifle to push himself up to his feet. "This is exactly why you and I should get away for a little while. Don't think I haven't noticed how tense you've been acting lately. You take it out on somebody, like the O'Driscoll or that fella from Valentine, then you go run a guns-blazing mission to distract yourself. I think we've got a lot to discuss, you and I. And if we can catch some rabbits for Pearson while we're at it, all the better."

Arthur had to snort. "With that?" he nodded at the rifle.

"Hmph, no, the rabbits are on you. This is for the wolves, should we happen upon any."

"We won't go too far?"

"No. I figure just down by the Dakota River. Be back by sundown. Can't I convince you?"

As if Arthur could ever say 'no' to Hosea Matthews, the man he loved as a father and perhaps the only being on Earth he trusted with his vulnerabilities. "Fine, fine. If I'm bein' honest, it would be nice. You and me, we haven't gone out for a hunt in…damn! I don't even remember."

This earned a smile. "Load up Tennessee then. I'll meet you here with Silver Dollar in a few minutes."

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Hosea's instincts had been dead on. The area near the river was teeming with deer and birds, though the rabbits he'd mentioned were nowhere in sight. Despite all the opportunities, Hosea had not once raised his gun, leaving Arthur to shoot a pair of pheasants and a deer in quick succession. It did not go unnoticed.

"Hey, Hosea, you come out here to watch or are ya actually gonna pull the trigger on somethin'?" Arthur teased as he finished strapping his latest kill to Tennessee's back. It was obvious that being out in the wilds, free from camp concerns, he was unwinding.

"I'm pacing myself. You've already loaded your horse to maximum capacity. What if something special comes along? Tossing something you've already killed would be a waste." Suddenly, Hosea hopped off his horse. "Come on, Arthur. Let's stop and eat something. This is a perfect spot."

The spot didn't look any better than any other along that stretch of the river, but Arthur figured it was about time for their promised heart to heart. After so many years riding with the man, he liked to think he knew him well enough to make these predictions.

Arthur wasn't wrong. Once Hosea passed him an apple, he let his eyes linger on his adopted son. "It's been eating at me since our last big discussion in Colter, you know."

"What has?" Arthur nervously took a big bite.

"The way you seemed so desperate for my approval. It occurs to me that perhaps Dutch and I did you a great disservice by always having you follow our lead, robbing you of chances to be your own person as you grew up."

"Hosea, I ain't never complained about that! I'm happy with the life I've had!"

"No, of course you haven't complained. It's all you've ever known since you were fourteen. And the problem is, here you are how many years later, and decisions are suddenly being thrust upon you now that Dutch is gone. I fear the pressure is eating away at you, and it's our fault for not preparing you for this day."

"What makes ya say that? Is it because of that train robbery? Me gettin' into that fight in Valentine? The attack on Colm yesterday?" Arthur seemed to have a long list of things he considered failings in his short tenure as leader, which only served to illustrate Hosea's point.

"The last one in particular was fool-hardy, I won't deny it, but it isn't about the quality of your decisions for the group. My boy, I'm more worried about how you're acting between decisions. It's as if…" Hosea hummed thoughtfully, trying to find the right words to express his concern. "I guess it seems as though you are so anxious that you are lashing out at people to cope with it. If it can get channeled by running a mission, all the better, but when it's not…" He shook his head. "The train didn't go as planned, and you tried so hard to rein in your frustration for my sake, but finally it overwhelmed you and you snapped during that bar fight. Rescuing Sean was a good distraction and turned out very well; I thought we were back on track, but the next day something about the O'Driscoll got the better of you and you flew off with Charles and John without thinking things through. Now you're even more uptight than you were before, and stomping around like a holy terror!"

"I fucked the whole thing up yesterday," Arthur admitted, his voice quivering with anger. Hosea almost regretted bringing it up when his boy had been so at peace not five minutes ago, but it had to be done. This anger eating at him needed an outlet, and he was determined to be that outlet. "I'm no good at this."

"Arthur, you do fine at it as long as you are keeping a clear head. When you are feeling overwhelmed, you need to find a way to slow down and take a breath, regain your control over the situation. You have always been impulsive, but it has always been harnessed up until now. Dutch can't do that for you anymore, and I won't be able to forever either. Do you understand?"

"Yessir," Arthur mumbled, his apple long forgotten with only the single bite taken out of it.

Hosea sighed. "I didn't want this to be about tough love, I just want to get to the heart of what is bothering you so I can help. I can't for the life of me figure out why that O'Driscoll got you so worked up. After how you've been acting, you've got a lot of ground to cover if you are ever going to coax trust from him. He didn't choose to join us just to be the whipping-boy of a different dictator."

That was unexpected. At the very mention of Kieran Duffy, Arthur ground his teeth, any sense of repentance flying out the window. "Why the hell should I care about his trust? He's just a filthy ex-O'Driscoll who's scared of his own shadow!"

Hosea gave him an unimpressed look. "No compassion, I take it?"

"Why should I? When I was younger than him I was takin' care o' myself and doin' what I had to do to survive. That's why you and Dutch took me in; you liked that about me. That sorry excuse for an outlaw only survives on other people's pity."

"Is that why you've been in such a foul mood since your mission yesterday? You can't stomach weakness? Seems odd, considering you hauled Swanson all the way back to camp without a word of complaint the other day."

Arthur rubbed his forehead as he inhaled deeply. "I thought takin' out Colm when I had the chance was the best thing to do for our gang. I shoulda waited until more people were ready to ride, but I wanted to be done with 'im as soon as possible. Then, I was stupid and went in alone and nearly got shot. If Charles had been the one to save me, or…hell, even if it had been John, that would be different. No. That kicked puppy had to be the one to save my hide."

"And that somehow gives him leverage? I fail to see the problem."

He gave an exasperated sigh. "Doncha get it? If he's weak, and he ended up savin' me, what does that make me?"

"Aaaaand back to the anxiety. Okay, I follow."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You gonna tell me the part where he pointed out the ridiculous amounts of money that we never woulda found otherwise only makes me pissed off 'cause of my fragile ego, too?"

Hosea looked him dead in the eyes. "Yep." Finally, he reached for his apple and took a bite, letting the single word sink in.

Arthur growled before taking another savage bite out of his. "He probably thinks he's hot shit."

"He probably was so excited that he was able to finally be useful to someone, and you brushed his work aside," Hosea corrected.

"That's it!" Hosea thought he was going to storm off, but it seemed he meant that expression in a different way, the sort of way when one has an epiphany. "That's why I can't stand 'im!"

"Dare I ask?"

"What you said, about 'bein' happy to be useful'. I can't stand 'im because he has no pride! There ain't nothin' he wouldn't do! He grovels and he cries and he begs… Why I bet he'd lick yer boot if you told 'im to! And all that, that makes me feel...sorry. Like when ya see a starvin' stray out in the rain. I hate it!"

Kieran was vulnerability personified, the most extreme case he'd ever come across in all his years, and he understood why it would grate against Arthur and his attitude of self-reliance. What Hosea didn't want to let on, however, was that, based on his recent epiphanies, Arthur may actually have something in common with the boy who was so desperate to please. Did Arthur realize this, hard as it might be to see given how successful he was in his attempts to earn praise, or was he repressing this truth like so many things? "Arthur, that's called 'empathy'. It is a normal human emotion."

"Well outlaws ain't supposed to have empathy!"

Hosea chuckled. "I think Mary-Beth missed that memo."

He threw up his hands. "Tell me about it! I'm 99% sure she was spoon-feedin' 'im oatmeal yesterday!"

"No surprise, but you and I both know that's why you have a soft-spot for her."

"Hey, that's not-"

"Anyway, at least we know what the problem is now; that's half the battle right there. As for the solution, well, I don't think you're going to like it, I'm afraid."

"Do tell," he rolled his eyes.

"You should spend time with him, toughen that boy up. I'm willing to bet he never had people looking out for him the way you did. Maybe in the process, he'll smooth out some of your edges. It would be mutually beneficial. Once you learn how to get along with him, you will have one less thing agitating you."

It looked as if Arthur had just swallowed a bitter pill, and he had, figuratively. Before he could complain, however, Hosea was reaching for his shotgun. The blast that followed rattled his teeth due to his proximity. "What the hell was that?!"

Hosea shielded his eyes against the sun glistening off the water. "Would you take a look at that ram? The horns are exquisite! And the coat? What a luster! That'll sell for a pretty penny. That is, if I don't decide to make a trophy out of him!"

Arthur scanned the opposite shore until he found the creature Hosea was describing. He'd brought it down in one clean shot, and it was every bit as majestic as he'd described. "What a kill!" he whistled in appreciation.

"Patience and a clear head pay off." Hosea laid a hand on Arthur's head. "Don't you forget it, my boy. Don't you forget it. Now, help me get this onto my horse!"


	10. Camp Meetings

"Arthur, Hosea, thank God you're back!"

As the pair rode into camp, they were hit upside the head by Lenny's frantic voice, unmistakable given the flawless grammar and pronunciation despite the high-pitched panic. It had been a few days since he and Micah had ridden out to scout Strawberry, and judging by the wild look in the kid's eyes as he came sprinting, something hadn't gone well. Arthur cast his mentor a look that clearly said 'I told you so'. Gone for less than a day and disaster had occurred. "Lenny, calm down boy. What's the matter?"

He was barely off his horse before Lenny was right beside him, fairly bouncing with nervous energy. "It's Micah! He got himself arrested!"

Arthur blinked slowly for a moment, then broke into a hearty chuckle as he tethered Tennessee. "Jesus boy, I thought there was some kinda emergency! Ya sure had me there."

Lenny stepped back unsurely. "Wait, you mean you aren't mad?"

"Why the hell should I be mad that that son of a bitch got what was comin' to 'im? It was only a matter of time given his hell-raisin' nature, and I'm sure it wasn't yer fault."

"A little more tact would be nice, Arthur," Hosea chided, but Arthur noted he seemed equally unperturbed by the news as he led Silver Dollar to the hitching post.

"Riiiiight. So, uh, what did the ol' bastard do?"

"We were in the saloon. I don't know what he did exactly; I wasn't real excited to be drinking with HIM of all people, so I was over in a different corner. Suddenly, there was this big uproar. It wasn't just a fight like yours though…" Arthur winced at the reminder, but Lenny didn't seem to notice. "He killed two men! I mean, they were O'Driscolls, but still. The law did not take kindly to that, and locked him up. They came after me, too, because of association. God, I thought the mob of them were going to lynch me! I barely escaped!" he shuddered.

Well, that was a much better explanation of why he was so rattled. Arthur was moved to reach out and gently squeeze his shoulder as a gesture of comfort. "Thank God that idiot didn't bring you down with 'im. It's gonna be all right, Lenny, we won't send ya anywhere near there."

"They say they plan on hanging him in a few days," he continued, looking between Arthur and Hosea, searching for some kind of reaction.

"What, ya want us to rescue 'im or somethin'? I didn't think you would, seein' as he always called you those unpleasant names and demanded you brink 'im a drink."

Lenny bit his lip thoughtfully. "I mean, if he didn't get rescued, I wouldn't lose any sleep over it."

"I believe your exact words were 'there'd be a party' if he fell," Arthur smirked.

Hosea finally got the chance to put in his two cents. "It's no mystery how I feel about Mr. Bell, but this is a big decision. If we just cut someone lose, it will make the others uneasy. We do bill ourselves as a family, even if Mr. Bell was hardly a member. I think bringing this matter to a camp vote would be the best course of action."

"You've got no disagreement from me, Hosea. Let's get everyone together an' settle this once an' for all." Arthur immediately headed to the heart of the camp, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his deep voice. "Hey all y'all, camp meetin' right here right now. Boys, ladies, everybody. This is an important matter."

Several members of the company had already begun to gather out of sheer curiosity from when Lenny had gone running, but several more began the slow process of ambling over.

"I'm in the middle of making tonight's stew!" Pearson protested from over in his tent.

"Let it burn, won't taste any different than usual!"

"Arthur, what do ya want me to do about Swanson? He's…indisposed," Grimshaw added.

Arthur sighed and turned to the heavens. "Forget 'im I guess."

Once everyone minus Swanson had gathered around, he cleared his throat and began. "I'm sure most o' ya have heard by now that Micah went an' got himself captured in Strawberry. To his credit, it was 'cause he killed a few O'Driscolls, but still. As it sits, if we do nothin' he's gonna hang. Now I ain't here to discuss the finer points of his personality, and I'm sure y'all know my personal opinions where he's involved, but this ain't about me an' my grudges. Micah, whether he embraced it or not, was technically a Van der Linde, and as such, all o' us Van der Lindes should have a say in whether or not we risk our lives to get 'im back. I've gathered us together so that every one of us has our say as we take it to a vote. No judgements for your opinions, speak yer minds. Gonna go right down the line, starting with Bill over here."

Bill looked surprised to be put on the spot. "I mean, Dutch valued 'im, and he's a great shot. Why wouldn't we get 'im back?"

Arthur held up a finger on one hand. "Okay, Javier?"

"If it were bounty hunters out in the open like it was for Sean, maybe. But a full prison break for a guy who told me to get the fuck back to Mexico? ¡Puede irse al Diablo!"

Arthur cocked his head. "I take it that's a 'no'?"

"That's right."

He held up a finger on his other hand. "Sean, how about you?"

"Hold up!" the lad interjected loudly, looking mighty offended. "Are ya sayin' ye wouldn't have rescued me from a prison?"

Javier shook his head quickly. "For you, of course, amigo. Just not for him."

"Ah, okay." Sean seemed much relieved. "As fer me, I'm up for anythin'. A good prison break sounds like fun!"

Not the reason Arthur was thinking, but noted all the same. "Charles?"

"No."

Arthur waited for a reason. Charles refused to elaborate. He didn't need to; everyone knew how Micah had called him a Redskin and ordered him around. They also all knew how Charles had made him eat dirt for that disrespect.

"Lenny and I spoke already, so…John?"

"We haven't got that many guns now that the Callander boys are out. And Dutch really trusted 'im. I think we should go."

It was very hard for Arthur not to point out that they'd probably lose guns in the effort to bust him out. He'd promised this was only about gathering opinions, though, so he bit his tongue. "Susan?"

"I'll make this very simple, Mr. Morgan. I, and all of the girls, vote to let 'im rot. He's always making unwanted sexual advances, and none of us feel safe with him around camp." When Arthur looked to the rest of the women, they were all nodding somberly with severe frowns. He didn't doubt it was true, not after some of the things he'd heard Micah say.

"Uncle?"

"Abstain."

"Abstain?"

"That's right. I ain't qualified to vote on this matter."

Arthur sighed. "At least he recognizes it… Okay, Strauss?"

"From a completely logical standpoint, it makes no sense. Even if you rescue him this time, he's got the temperament that will lead to the exact same scenario."

It took a few seconds for Arthur to process Strauss' statement, but it registered eventually. "And that just leaves Pearson, right?"

"I see a lot of things, being the cook. I can tell you right now, that man ain't really a Van der Linde. He treats everybody like shit…"

"Even YOU, Pearson?" Arthur interrupted with mock surprise.

Pearson just rolled his eyes. "Shocking as it is, even me. That man would never risk himself for any one of you, just saying. I vote good riddance."

"Okay…I think that's everybody-"

"I vote 'no'!"

Everyone turned and looked for the source of the unfamiliar voice. They found it hanging around the back, blushing under all their looks. Kieran wished he could say what he thought, that Micah would be far more likely to betray them than he would, that his cruelty matched that of Colm O'Driscoll himself, but he knew that would not go over well.

Arthur scowled. "Ain't nobody asked you! I said 'boys and ladies', not O'Driscolls!"

Kieran swallowed, but held onto the spark of defiance with a death grip. "You said 'everybody'."

"You ain't 'everybody', you're 'nobody'! Not that it matters in the end…" Arthur waved a hand dismissively. "I think the results are pretty conclusive."

"Hold on a minute. Why do all the women's votes count the same as the guys that put their necks on the line?" Bill complained.

"Mr. Williamson." Hosea spoke for the first time. He seemed to know through all his years of experience that saving his voice gave it far more impact. Now was the time to use it. "If the women do not feel safe, that is unacceptable. The fact that we can all come together as a family of equals is what makes this gang better than savages. Micah did not understand this concept, and this is why so many are not willing to come to his rescue. You'll also notice that the vote between gunslingers is tied without factoring Arthur, myself, or the entire rest of the camp who voted 'no'. This really isn't even a contest. Do you understand?"

"Yessir…" he muttered dejectedly.

"Then I think that settles it…" Arthur began, only for Lenny to interrupt him.

"Can I add one more thing?"

"Sure."

"When we were in Strawberry, I saw him kick a dog."

There was a collective gasp of horror, and even Bill looked mildly offended.

"Well, that 'bout settles it. We leave 'im to hang. Win-win, we get rid of 'im and we don't even hafta do anything; he did it to himself." This earned a smattering of applause.

"So, can we drink to this?" Lenny inquired with a smug grin.

Arthur snorted. "I don't know nothin' 'bout it. Just be sure to bring me a bottle!"

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Arthur had wanted to discuss possible job opportunities, but their camp meeting had gone on long enough. He'd round up the bunch tomorrow and figure out what everyone could do to be productive. For tonight, he figured he'd just gnaw on the roast pheasant he'd contributed, toss back a beer as Lenny had suggested, and sketch the birds he'd hunted that day. For once, things seemed to be going well. He was particularly pleased they'd been able to resolve the Micah issue with a nearly unified response and next to no arguing. He had to admit, the mood around the camp tonight was outright jovial at the prospect of never seeing his ugly mug again.

He had just settled onto his cot and opened his sketchbook when a feminine silhouette flickered against his tent flap. "Arthur? You aren't passed out yet, are you?"

He snapped the journal closed. That's right, he had some business to discuss with Mary-Beth that he still hadn't gotten around to. Might as well get it over with now considering how well everything else had gone. "Naw, too early for that."

"I didn't know how much Hosea wore you out with your little trip today." Mary-Beth pulled back the tent flap and allowed herself to enter, letting it fall shut behind her. She had no fear of anyone in the camp judging what she was doing in a closed tent with Arthur Morgan, because everyone knew she considered him the closest thing to a father-figure she'd ever had. Conversely, they all knew he had a soft spot for the girl. That soft spot was not going to interfere with what he had to tell her, however.

"Not enough that I forgot the conversation you and I need to have," Arthur responded. He made no move to rise, felt no need to utilize a more imposing physical presence with the girl. "But judgin' by the fact that you're here, you haven't forgotten neither."

"What you said to Kieran in front of the entire camp was unnecessary," she declared, bypassing any subtlety.

"First of all, you're on a first name basis with the O'Driscoll? Secondly, how you undermined me was unnecessary," he countered, arcing an eyebrow. "The entire point o' torture is to get the person so uncomfortable that they spill their guts. You givin' 'im water kept 'im from foldin' sooner. I thought I noticed it already in Colter. Is that when you started?"

"Yes. He was terrified! He thought you'd do to him what Colm would do to him. I know how much your tough exterior means to you, but he deserved to know you weren't that kind of man."

Arthur growled. "You were tellin' 'im I was nice?"

Mary-Beth shrugged. "I told him you didn't enjoy violence for violence's sake, but the sooner he talked the better. Then, yes, I gave him some water, because you never said no water."

"How much faster could the process have gone if you hadn't though?"

"Did you ever consider how much faster the process would go if you had dangled a carrot instead of threatening the stick?" When Arthur's brow furrowed in confusion, she continued. "He's not hard to read. With you, he's scared of his own shadow, but with me, he offers up information without being able to help himself. He's DESPERATE to be heard. If you'd have played up that angle, you'd have gotten the information out of him the first night, I guarantee it. As it was, he was too busy crying to say anything!"

The cold, critical analysis Mary-Beth offered surprised him, but he should know better by now. She was a girl that often got away with things based on a pretty smile, but she didn't run with the gang for nothing. "I'll admit, I can certainly believe the last part."

She waggled a finger. "That old saying, you know? You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. You can be the vinegar, Arthur, but I'll be the honey. Between the two of us, we've got this set."

"Okay, I can see yer point. But what does that have to do with your first comment about our meeting today?"

Mary-Beth blinked. "Well…it was cruel. He's going to be much more loyal to you if you stop humiliating him like that."

Arthur gave her a long, hard look. "He can deny it all he likes, but he still ran with the O'Driscolls. It's gonna take a very long time before he proves himself."

"He's already done more work than Micah around here, and Micah was here for a few months to his two days."

A snort escaped him. "I concede that is also very true."

"Just…go easier on him, all right? I'm not going to pretend that it's purely tactical." For the first time, Arthur could see her face soften in the glow of the oil lamp. "He's had it rougher than most, even by our standards."

"You know I worry about you gettin' too soft, Mary-Beth…"

"I know. But I'm a grown woman, Arthur. I can take care of myself."

"Well," he smiled, "I will say out of the three o' you I took to Valentine, you were the only one I didn't hafta rescue."

"Tilly's thing was kind of unfair though."

"See? So noble, all the time!" Like Hosea had said, Mary-Beth the empath. Yeah, he was never not going to worry. "All right then. If that's settled, I'm ready to wind down for the night."

"Okay. Thanks for hearing me out, Arthur. It's nice that you're in charge now." She suddenly stopped, aware of what she was insinuating.

Arthur was as well, but he pretended not to. Dutch never did pay heed to the women's opinions despite how he welcomed them into the fold and used the information they gathered. He could understand where that would drive a smart girl like Mary-Beth crazy. "You can take over my position any time, you know." Seriously, any time. It had been nearly two weeks of this, and he was exhausted. Maybe the drawings of pheasants would have to wait for another night.


	11. Taking Care of Business

Arthur summoned his boys together the next morning over a pot of coffee, intent on getting some jobs rolling. He had a whole list of ideas jotted down that would bring in money in a legit manner. Here was hoping the others would buy into them.

"Listen up, fellers. First off, this ain't a specific job, per say, but if ya see any cigarette cards, grab 'em and bring 'em back to me."

"Excuse me, what?" John stared. "Did you actually just bring up gathering cigarette cards at a business meeting?" Great, that didn't take long.

"You heard me," Arthur declared, narrowing his eyes. "There's a feller who's collectin' and will pay money for a full set. Sounds ridiculous to me, and don't go outta yer way or nothin', just grab 'em when you see 'em, simple enough." John rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that look, Marston! Money is money."

"If Dutch knew we were picking up trading cards to earn a living, he'd be rolling in his grave," John retorted with no small amount of distaste. Several others muttered in agreement.

"We ain't! We're capitalizin' on opportunities for a little extra in our pockets if it ain't too much trouble! Now, movin' on to the big things that actually matter…" He inhaled deeply. Dare he say this after their last reaction? "There's a lady willin' to pay for dinosaur bones."

"What kinda bones?" Bill squinted suspiciously. "Ain't never heard o' no 'dinosaur'."

"Big lizards that lived thousands of years ago," Lenny supplied matter-of-factly. "Most of them were bigger than even bears." Arthur could tell the intellectual in Lenny was intrigued by the idea. He was possibly the only one.

"More collectin' shit. Boooooring!" Sean booed. "What about shootin' stuff?"

"Well, if ya could do it cleanly, without blastin' 'em to bits, there's a reward for collectin' a perfect squirrel and rabbit sample. Just have to mail 'em to the agency that wants 'em."

Sean just wrinkled his nose. "No thanks."

"Sounds like a job for me," Charles offered before taking another sip of coffee.

"Thanks, Charles. Let's see here…" Arthur consulted his list once more. "I've got a bounty from the sheriff of Valentine."

Every able member of the Van der Linde gang, sans Charles, declared in unison that they wanted to take that job. Arthur almost wondered if they would get into a fight to determine who would get to handle it, especially after being given so many lack-luster options. Perhaps if he clarified on the details a few would back out and make this an easy choice?

"Some quack peddlin' tainted snake oil, the stuff ends up killin' folks. They want him brought in alive, so just lasso the fool and give 'im the ol' hog tie."

Just as quickly as they'd agreed, almost all of them withdrew their offers. Lenny, being Lenny, piped up "I suppose I could take that one seeing as everybody ELSE isn't willing…" he glared at the others. "Bounty's a bounty."

Arthur offered a hearty slap on the back. "Thank ya, Lenny. I can always count on you. I'll point ya in the right direction when we're done here. That brings us to the last item. We've gotta hunt down some gunslingers and capture 'em…" Everyone's eyes lit up with hope, but then Arthur finished his sentence. "…on film."

"For fuck's sake, Morgan!" Bill cursed. "Takin' pictures? What kinda job is that?!"

He clutched the handle of his mug tightly. "One that pays half the proceeds of the book to be written with the interviews we gather. Think Emmet Granger, Billy Midnight, Flaco Hernandez and Black Belle. It's a job the poor sap from Boston ain't never gonna be able to do. Only gunslingers like us can run with gunslingers like them."

"Wait wait wait, lemme get this straight, English. We're supposed to find these mythical outlaws, but instead of gettin' into a gunfight with 'em and stealin' their reputation, we've gotta…ask 'em questions about the good ol' days?" Sean shook his head, unable to fathom such a concept. "That's malarkey."

"An entire list of bullshit!" John added before draining the rest of his coffee and tossing the cup to the ground. "I think I'll find my own jobs."

Arthur could feel any semblance of control slipping away. Panic laced with anger raced through his veins. "Sit yer ass down, Marston! We ain't done here!"

"Who died and made you the boss, anyways?"

Arthur was this close to reaching over and punching John in the face when Hosea swooped in from nowhere and grabbed the young man by the ear. "John, you will sit and you will listen, do you hear me, boy?" His voice was quiet, but no one missed the tint of venom it carried. That was what made it so effective. Hosea angered very rarely, so when he lost his cool like this, even the brash John Marston cowered.

"B-but Hosea…"

"But nothing! Sit!"

John planted his butt back on the log looking very much like a scolded dog. He didn't dare look any of his companions in the eye.

"Now, all of you, let's get one thing clear: Arthur is trying very hard to find legitimate work because I asked him to. Do not be giving him grief about the types of jobs he finds. If you have an issue, take it up with me, do you understand me?"

"Yes Hosea," came the general chorus.

"I understand this isn't your favorite sort of thing to do, but think about it. It hasn't even been two full days since you last got into a skirmish. I don't think it is unreasonable to ask you to keep things tame for ONE GODDAMN WEEK!"

The silence was profound. Even the others in the camp had fallen silent, gawking at the proceedings. Arthur noticed with some bitter amusement that Pearson had even frozen mid-cleave over at the chuck wagon. Finally, Lenny raised his hand, unsure whether it was safe to speak or not.

"Yes, Lenny?"

"I just wanted to say that I changed my mind after hearing about the last job. I want to interview Black Belle. Can I do that instead?"

The tense mood was broken as most everyone chuckled at his eagerness. "Suit yerself, Lenny. I'll make sure to lend ya my camera," Arthur acknowledged.

"Thanks Arthur. I'll get you some good information!"

Following Lenny's lead, Javier raised his hand, albeit not as high. "Can I offer an idea?"

Hosea looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Is it going to go with our goal of keeping a low profile?"

"Well, I just heard in the saloon the other day that there's this ranch in Ambarino with some real creepy family. Nobody in town likes them, and there are rumors that they are robbing people that travel on the road nearby. They call the place Chez Porter. What if we hit that place, seeing as nobody would care and they are probably bandits anyways?"

"Could I trust you to turn back if it turns out they are perfectly law-abiding citizens?" Hosea gave him a piercing gaze, and Arthur was certain no lie Javier could devise would go unnoticed.

"I promise, Hosea. If it makes you feel better, I'll bring you proof that they are bandits!"

He contemplated for a moment. "Very well then. Who will go with you?"

"Me!" John's hand shot up, shocking considering the boy had never been to school in his life.

"No, John, I have a different plan for you and Bill." Arthur hoped the plan involved scraping shit off of boots, but it wasn't to be. "Mary-Beth found out about a potential train to rob. I need you two to scout out the area where the train will be passing in Scarlet Meadows and report back with potential hazards and an optimal approach. Can you handle that?"

"Yessir," they both agreed.

"So, Sean, why don't you go with Javier? That leaves Lenny to get the Black Belle interview, and Charles to get those animal specimens. And Arthur, what are you going to do?"

He sighed. "I guess I'll go pick up that quack. Don't want nobody else gettin' their hands on that bounty."

"Wonderful, we all have a plan. Let's get to it, gentlemen." Hosea turned and headed back to his breakfast without another word.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Guess I'd better go get my lasso. See you boys later." He left not far behind Hosea, abandoning his half-drunken coffee on the stump. He couldn't handle staying another second more. He'd lose it. He kept his eyes trained straight ahead as he went, not trusting himself to look at any of the others in the camp. They'd see every crack in his façade.

When he was nearly to the hitching post, he was startled by a silent figure stepping out from behind Taima. "Charles? When did you-?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Arthur. I just thought you should hear that from somebody," the man offered as he loaded up his bow and quivers of arrows. Thank God he wasn't actually looking directly at him. "You care a lot, I can tell, so it's hard not to let what they say get to you. They could stand to learn some discipline for their own good."

"I swear, Charles, sometimes you are more spirit than human being," Arthur grumbled, focusing on his own preparations at Tennessee's side. The lasso he needed was quickly tucked away in the saddle bag. "Not gonna lie, it's a bit unsettling."

"Hmph, I just call it a cultural difference. Observing more than talking, you know."

"It's effective, that's fer sure."

"And to answer your other question: I left as soon as I got my assignment. Because a teammate accepts his role to best help the group. There's another cultural difference." Satisfied, Charles pulled himself up onto Taima. "I'll have the job done by the time you return."

"Thank you, Charles. I mean, really, thank you." He risked a look in the effort to drive his point home, and was met by calm, brown eyes.

"I've got your back, Arthur. If it wasn't for you and Hosea, we'd have fallen apart by now." With gentle encouragement, Charles started his horse trotting, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts and the soft sounds of horses snorting.

Maybe they hadn't fallen apart yet, but he'd be a fool not to see the fracture growing more pronounced each day. It felt like they'd end up in two neat halves before long, at least where the gunmen were concerned: he and Hosea, Charles and Lenny welcomed a conservative plan, but Bill, Sean, John and Javier…

"M-Mister Arthur?"

He whipped around and found himself staring down the O'Driscoll, who despite intentionally provoking him seemed to shrink under his intense gaze. "What's wrong, O'Driscoll?"

Kieran opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of what he was going to say. Arthur was certain he knew what those instinctual words would have been, and he smirked a bit. "I jus' wanted to offer…I mean, I ain't got no idea what a 'dinosore' is, but if ya show me one, I can keep my eyes open fer those bones ya need."

There was no stopping it. Arthur burst into full-on laughter, leaning against his horse for support. It was too outrageous. None of his men wanted to help, but this barely-a-member cry-baby was offering his services? Shit, but life was cruel. "Well, if ya trip on any dinosaur bones while you're out scoopin' horse shit, by all means."

It was predictable, really, the flush of embarrassment all the way to the tips of his ears as he dug the toe of his worn boot into the dirt. Not his problem, the boy should have known how ridiculous such a thing sounded. Two days ago he'd have walked away and left it at that, enjoying the way he squirmed. What he hadn't predicted, however, were Hosea's words coming back to haunt him: he wants to be useful, spend some time with him. Ugh, that was the last thing he wanted right now. And then Mary-Beth's words came like a one-two punch: he's desperate to be heard, dangle the carrot.

But that wasn't even the worst of all. It was seeing him looking exactly how he felt after that meeting.

He drew a deep breath. "But if I find some bones nearby, I'll have ya help me get them dug out so you can see what they look like. I know you're good at liftin' stuff at least."

He climbed up onto his horse and rode off without ever looking at him for a reaction. It would be unbearable, and besides, he didn't need to, because as usual the boy had something to say about it, even if it was directed to his back. "O-okay Mister Arthur, any time you need me!" There was an almost excited upward pitch. Good Lord, Mary-Beth was right, that boy was too easy.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Well, in the end Arthur had taken one for the team with that bounty hunt. No way Bill or Sean would have been able to resist the urge to kill that obnoxious "scientist". Scientist his ass. The man was more showman than anything, and he should know, because he spent a long time living with Hosea. At least Hosea never poisoned people with absurd elixirs. After dealing with his target's voluntary plunge into the river and a long ride back, filled with constant moaning and groaning about injustice, Arthur finally dumped him in a jail cell and collected his fifty dollars.

He was sweaty. His horse had kicked up mud from running hard to catch up. Most of all, he was tired and stressed. It was time for a bath.

There was no ignoring the stares he got as he walked down the street. People saw him and turned to whisper to their companions. A few even had the guts to call him out for what he did to Tommy. He wasn't sure which he hated more, the fact that Hosea had been right about the ruckus his slip-up had caused, or the fact that Tommy was somehow innocent despite the fact that he'd been the one to throw him through the barroom window. At least the hotel clerk didn't decline his money when he declared his intention to bathe.

"We'll have that ready in a few minutes, sir." The nerves were definitely still there in his voice.

Arthur did his best to ignore it. There was still a favor he needed to do, and he hadn't forgotten. "Is Vivien workin' today?"

This flustered the clerk even more. "Y-Yes sir. You'll have the deluxe bath then?" What the hell did he think the request was about? This probably needed clarifying, for her sake.

"That's right." He slid 75 cents across the counter. "You remember what I looked like last time I was here. I still owe that girl a tip for her good work, that's all." He shrugged as he took a seat. At least he was still clean enough to do that much…

Within a few minutes he was stripped out of his clothes and sinking into the hot water, embracing the bliss of it. No gang problems here, just steam and soap. It was nearly enough to lull him to sleep, but a knock on the door kept him from giving in to it. "Ready?"

"Yes, miss."

When the door swung open to reveal Vivien, she was wearing a different but similarly-styled dress from the last time. There was something else, though, something was fundamentally different. He couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was until she wordlessly grabbed the brush and began scrubbing his back. She had been serious last time, but this wasn't the same; this was cold. No questions, no glint of recognition in her eyes, not even a 'hello'. He'd been around the women of the camp long enough to know that something was very wrong.

"Umm, Miss Vivien? Is somethin' the matter?" he attempted. Hell with greetings.

"Everything is fine," she responded in a clipped tone, refusing to look at him as she worked.

Arthur sighed. He also knew that was the biggest lie of all time, but one women fell back on without fail. "I was tryin' to be polite, miss, I KNOW somethin's the mater. To be blunt, I guess I should ask WHAT's the matter. I mean, if you can say. And definitely if it has to do with me."

The brush paused, and he noticed how she pressed her thin lips together. Deciding. "Not my place to say to a customer."

"Even if the customer demands it?"

Vivien drew a shaky breath, and Arthur couldn't help but feel a little bit bad for putting her into such a position. "You won't tell my boss?"

"Nuh-uh."

She drew a second, even shakier breath. "I found out why you were covered in mud the last time you were here. You're the one that almost killed Tommy."

Well shit.


End file.
